


You've Only Just Arrived

by lettalady



Series: You've Only Just Arrived [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2018-02-26 04:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 80
Words: 182,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2638919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are a hardworking young actor that catches a big break, resulting in you attending your first big awards show. Among the famous faces you see that night, Tom Hiddleston. You only ever intended to admire him from afar, but he has different plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story began as a simple oneshot but the idea wouldn't release it's hold. The original is as follows... Hope you enjoy!  
> \--
> 
> Imagine you’ve only just arrived on the scene. You slow your pace as you come to the edge of the grand hall, stopping just on the outskirts of the crowd. You are amazed that you are now considered part of the crowd that mingles before you. As you look around at the sea of people you internally begin to make a list of all the famous faces that you have been in awe of all your life. The situation feels surreal. 
> 
> You fidget with the slender bracelet upon your wrist and glance nervously down at the gown that you splurged on, worrying now about your decision to wear it. You shake yourself out of your doubts and look up again at the crowd to spot Tom Hiddleston’s profile, causing your breath to catch. You spend longer than probably socially acceptable watching him interact with - you can’t see who it is, but they’re making him laugh so it doesn’t matter. Even through the din of so many conversations Tom’s laugh reaches your ears. You let your eyes drop to admire his well tailored suit and smile to yourself. This moment alone makes the whole night worth it.
> 
> Was Tom clean shaven? You hadn’t gotten a good look before. You let your eyes wander back up to his face, only to find him lock eyes with you. His smirk says it all… He’s caught you red handed. You feel yourself begin to turn crimson, the flush extending through the tips of your ears. Can you duck back out the entrance without too much trouble? Tom hasn’t broken eye contact and you are unable to do anything but remember how to breathe. 
> 
> Tom reaches to his side to excuse himself from his previous conversation and then starts to weave his way towards you. How many times have you daydreamed about this happening? Your heart is pounding as he closes the gap. Even in your heels you feel tiny standing before him. With an ever so slight bow he reaches out and takes your hand, drawing it to his lips before giving it a chaste kiss and saying:
> 
> "Well. Hello, darling."

You’ve only just arrived on the scene. You made it through the gauntlet of flashing lights and shouts of reporters without tripping over your own feet.

You definitely count that as an accomplishment.

You slow your pace as you come to the edge of the grand hall, stopping just on the outskirts of the crowd. You are amazed that you are now considered part of the crowd that mingles before you. It seems just yesterday you were still back home, content to performing on the small stage.

Being ’discovered’ and subsequently cast in what turned out to be an extremely well received film still sends your mind reeling. As you look around at the sea of people you internally begin to make a list of all the famous faces that you have been in awe of all your life.

This is one of those moments that feels so surreal to you.

You fidget with the slender bracelet upon your wrist that your mother gave you for luck, fingering the pendant that has slipped to sit near the clasp. You can’t feel the script upon the charm but you mentally recite the etched words that you know by heart: _To thine own self be true…_

You take an unsteady breath and glance nervously down at the gown that you splurged on, worrying now about your decision to wear it. Does the fabric cling a little too much to your gentle curves? Did all the camera flashes make the color look unflattering? It stole your heart from the moment you put it on but now…

You shake yourself out of your doubts and look up again at the crowd to spot Tom Hiddleston’s profile, causing your breath to catch. You spend longer than probably socially acceptable watching him interact with - you can’t see who it is because of the position of the surrounding crowd, but they’re making him laugh so it doesn’t matter.

Even through the din of so many conversations Tom’s laugh reaches your ears. You let your eyes drop to admire his well tailored suit, and let’s be honest, the body within, and smile to yourself. This moment alone makes the whole night and all the hard work leading up to it completely worthwhile.

Bless whomever had a hand in deciding how to dress Tom tonight.  
  
Was Tom clean shaven? You hadn’t gotten a good look before. You let your eyes wander back up to his face, only to find that he has turned his head, and his eyes are now locked with yours.

His smirk says it all… He’s caught you red handed.

You feel yourself begin to turn crimson, the flush extending with each additional second. What a picture you must be now. Can you duck back out the entrance without too much trouble?

Tom hasn’t broken eye contact and you are unable to do anything but remember how to breathe. Tom reaches to his side to excuse himself from his previous conversation and then starts to weave his way towards you. You see Benedict Cumberbatch step forward to briefly visually follow the progress of his friend and, to your judgment, begin to follow before he is paused by being greeted by someone else.  
  
Tom seems to be able to part the crowd with ease, already covering half the distance between the two of you. How many times have you daydreamed about this happening? Your heart is pounding as he closes the gap. Even in your heels you feel tiny standing before him.

With an ever so slight bow he reaches out and takes your hand, drawing it to his lips before giving it a chaste kiss and saying: "Well. Hello, darling."  
  
You still feel your cheeks burning but you at least recover yourself enough to respond. “Mr. Hiddleston.”  
  
“Tom. Please.” He amends.  
  
“I was just ah - admiring your suit?” It comes out as a question and you feel your flush regaining its strength. You fan your face with your hand to try to combat the result of your embarrassment and mutter to yourself, “Dear Lord help me this….” You clear your throat and smile up at him, “I am such a fan of yours. I’ll just ah - let you get back to your conversation?” There was that dratted upturn to the sentence again.  
  
Tom shakes his head merrily, “Benedict insisted I come over. He’ll probably also be along shortly. Couldn’t miss the chance to congratulate you on your nomination tonight- we couldn’t stop talking about the turn after viewing the film!”

Bless him for not pointing out your embarrassment.  
  
Talking about the film brings you back onto familiar territory as you’ve been promoting the film steadily since finishing filming. “The writers did a wonderful job with the script. I was absolutely hooked. I’m so very lucky to have been apart of it.”  
  
“And there’s already talks of a sequel I hear.”  
  
He is remarkably well informed, you had started hearing buzz to the same effect as well. “It is an amazing thing to think of…”  
  
“Hopefully all the principles will be returning?”  
  
There had been issues with scheduling conflicts while filming, among other things, for some of the other actors. You tilt your hear slightly as an indication of your hesitance to comment, “Time will tell I suppose.”  
  
Tom looks to your side before speaking again, though a tad more softly, “No date tonight?”

Reporters had been trying to link you with the only other American on the project, one of the two male leads. While filming abroad the two of you had found comfort in the small similarities that you both shared regarding your respective birthplaces, even though all involved with the project steadfastly refused that anything more than a good friendship was the case. It didn’t help matters that he had an extremely jealous on-again-off-again girlfriend who liked to stir up the rumor mill.

You give Tom a half smile, “I’m sure Andrew and Matt are both around here somewhere with their respective dates. I don’t have a special someone to ask and Mom sadly couldn‘t make it out here to join me.”

Was it your imagination or had Tom’s smile grown a little more upon hearing confirmation that you were unattached?  
  
He is focused so intently on you that you forget about the massive room surrounding the pair of you until Benedict walks up and clapps his hand on Tom’s shoulder. “And what shall we be naming the first born?”

Tom shakes his head while you turn to stare wide-eyed at Benedict. He grins at Tom before turning to you and holding out his hand in greeting. “Hello _____. I’m sure he’s told you we are both massive fans. Loved Touring Sundays.” He chuckles at your still shocked expression. “Breathe. Tom have you at least offered the lady a drink?”  
  
“No Ben, I haven’t.” Tom laughs and reaches his hand up to wipe it over his face in a motion you’ve seen him do in countless video interviews when he becomes embarrassed.  
  
Benedict checks his watch quickly before nodding towards off to the side of the room, “Plenty of time until they’ll start to corral us.”

They both cast you a questioning look and you nod assent. Tom offers you his arm to lead the way to the bar which you are only too glad to accept. The slick floor doesn’t give you much purchase in the heels you had chosen to wear to the event and, added bonus, it gives you reason to touch the man.

_They_  had assured you that for most of the event you would be seated - _someone_  had evidently overlooked the walk up to the building and then the massive ball room that served as an entryway and meeting place before the aforementioned sitting would occur.

Both men have altered their gait to prevent you from having to run to keep up with them. Oh to be at least six feet tall with legs that go on for miles! Before your thoughts can turn back to the image you’ve now logged away in your brain of Tom’s lower half in the lovely suit he is wearing tonight you find yourself at the bar, and Benedict and Tom are muttering between themselves over drinks.

You turn back to face the mass of people, still taking in the famous faces you aren’t quite used to seeing without having a screen between them and yourself.

“Darling, what would you like?” Tom’s voice in your ear along with the flutter of his fingers over your skin once again renders you paralyzed.  
It takes you a moment to blink yourself out of your stupor and respond. “God I think I need a shot. They really encourage you drink before these things?”  
  
Both men laugh but Benedict beats Tom to the response, “Sure, but you can’t have nearly as much fun as you can at the after-party.”

Was that an invitation?  
  
If you stand here with the two of them much longer your heart is at risk of giving out. Damn your weakness for tall men and low voices. “Sounds like trouble waiting to happen.” You squeak out.  
  
You hear your name being called out and search to find the source to eventually see Matt grinning broadly at you as he makes his way in your direction.

Benedict razzes his old friend upon being greeted, “Some friend you are, we had to introduce ourselves to your costar here.”  
  
“I’m glad someone has snagged her. As soon as I heard she arrived alone I was worried she was going to try to bolt back out the door before the show.” Matt ignores Benedict’s jibe and jostles your elbow lightly, “Crowds.”  
  
Tom passes you the shot you requested as Benedict emits an impish grin. “Something caught her eye before she could change her mind.”  
  
You can feel your blush returning. Being caught checking out Tom is something you are evidently not going to live down. Matt is giving you a questioning look and you shake your head sharply before tossing back the shot. The intercom overhead crackles and the crowd quiets slightly as everyone slowly begins to file towards the massive doors feeding into the seating area.  
  
“Come along then, ______.” It has been a few years since Matt has been in Doctor Who but still the catchphrases tumble out of his mouth effortlessly.  
  
Before Matt can pull you fully beyond Tom’s reach he snags your hand again and brings it to his lips once more. “I hope you’ll be around afterwards?”  
  
You smile and nod at him, quickly waving goodbyes both to him and Benedict, then allowing Matt to pull you through the crowd towards yours seats.

“You’re going to love this, ______. Andrew already found our seats, right up front!” Matt gives your hand a squeeze. “Left both our dates with him - I’m sure he’s loving all the attention - so I could find you. That shot helping at all?” He knows that your nerves are kicking in to high gear.

When Matt slows for lack of room to continue his barreling pace you glance back to try to see if Tom is still at the bar but find you can’t see past the immediate faces of the crowd that has collapsed into a quickened pace behind you. “Sure... Wouldn’t have said no to another though.”

Matt stops short and turns so he can see your face as you enter the auditorium. Astonishment and wonder at how beautiful it is don’t even begin to cover it.

You sigh out, “Oh - wow.”

An opening appears and once again he pulls you onward with sure steps towards the front and center of the vast number of seats. You are delighted to see that Matt has brought his sister as his date as the two of you get along fairly well. You look to see who is sitting next to Andrew but find the woman’s back is to you. You hesitate, hoping that there won’t be a scene at your first awards show that you’ve ever attended. When you get close enough Andrew stands to give you a half hug and you are relieved to see that it is his publicist seated next to him.  
  
Of course there are assigned seats for tonight’s event. In the bustle of everyone getting to their seats you forget to keep an eye out to try to find Tom and Benedict again. It isn’t until you hear the five minute warning, and the lights begin to flicker, that you realize you can just turn around in your seat to survey the crowd behind you. Sure, you may look like an overexcited child but this is your first awards show after all. When can you look enthused if not now?  
  
You find Benedict first, directly behind your little group and two rows further back. You give him a shy wave as though perhaps in these few minutes he has forgotten your brief exchange. He nods and returns your wave before knowingly tilting his head and pointing across the aisle.You spin in your chair and try to figure out where exactly he was indicating. You spot Tom also seated on the aisle - thank goodness for the leg room, for his sake - and also a few rows away from you. He is talking animatedly with the man you recognize to be Luke Windsor, Tom's hands fluttering in front of him as he speaks.  
  
You don’t catch his eye before Matt pulls on your arm to get you to sit back down in your seat. “There will be plenty of commercial breaks for you to moon over him along with the rest of your gender and half of mine. Talk to me! I haven’t seen you in weeks!”  
  
“Two weeks and a half.” Laura leans over to correct him. “Dramatist. Leave her alone.”  
  
Smiling, you pinch Matt on the arm. “I missed you too, though I think it was the right move to let you guys promote separately for a bit. I know any publicity is good publicity but really…” You roll your eyes and make a face drawing laughter from the two of them.  
  
He leans closer to you to whisper, “I asked him not to bring her.”  
  
“Was he really thinking about bringing her?” You scowl at the thought.  
  
Laura sighs and nods. She doesn’t approve of Andrew’s taste in women, but that is also colored by the fact that she not-so-secretly adores him. You don’t approve of _her_ taste in men, as Andrew continues to date a woman who repeatedly wounds him, but you are determined to keep out of Laura’s love life as you seem permanently between boyfriends --despite what the tabloids report.

You settle back into your seat as the lights go down, but whisper a final thank you to Matt. What would you do without him acting as your protective older brother?  
  
The first segment breezes past faster than you thought it would. Watching at home doesn’t quite do the show justice though you find yourself wishing you weren’t right in the front row. Maybe next year, you muse dreamily… oh but planning like that seems a bit far reaching, doesn’t it?

As the lights go up everyone is up and out of their seats to find friends that they want to catch up with and you are surprised by the number of people filing past to greet your little group that is milling about in the front row. Though most are stopping by to see Matt and Andrew there are a few that are coming up to you as well. You are waiting to see Benedict or Tom slide up beside you but they never appear. Both being A list actors, it really doesn’t surprise you that they are continually surrounded by a multitude of friends from past projects.

You fiddle a bit with the bracelet on your wrist as everyone heads back to their seats and the music swells again to cue the end of the commercial break.  
  
In the next break you are star struck as not one but a _stream_ of your acting idols walk up to commend you on your work in the movie and offer their welcome. Now you’re tremendously grateful for having taken that shot before hand so you aren’t as socially awkward as you would have been otherwise.

The process continues to repeat itself throughout the night and before you know it the award you’ve been dreading - the one you are nominated for - is next. You already know that you aren’t going to win, all the other supporting actresses in the category have well established careers, and have you on talent by leaps and bounds.

You watch with interest as they show the clips of each actress, then watch your own performance with a curious detachment. The woman on the screen echoes oddly in your head. You find yourself hoping that the rumors about a sequel are true and that they still want you for the role.

You are snapped out of your thoughts by a bright light and the camera being shoved in your face. Ok time for the nice reaction shot… pleasant smile. Why aren’t they moving on? You realize Matt is laughing openly and prodding you to stand up.

Oh goodness did you _win_? And you didn’t even hear them announce it.

You can feel the pink blush tingeing your cheeks again. You stand and glance back and forth between the two sets of stairs that are seemingly equidistant from your current position. Who designed this place?

You feel Matt grab your hand and while remaining seated push you towards the set of stairs on the right, the action drawing claps and some laughter from the crowd at your back. Upon reaching the top of the stage someone thrusts the award into your hands and you stare at it as you are half ushered to the podium. You glance between it and the mass of people sitting before you, at least the ones you can make out beyond the brightness of the lights shining on you.  
  
“Oh - oh, wow.” You blink and laugh at the absurdity of the situation. The metal of your bracelet’s pendant gently taps against the metal of the award, which brings your gaze back down to it. It's surprisingly heavy.

“Mom I bet you won’t say no next time…” You really shouldn’t have said that, though it brings another round of laughter in response. “Really this award doesn’t belong to me but to everybody else who worked on the movie - our producers, director, all the cast and crew.. Matt, Andrew - all of you made it a joy to show up each day. Wow.” You shake your head at the award in your hands again. “Wow. Mom I’ll let you and Dad figure out who gets this first and all that…Thank you!” You nod at the digital sign urging you to wrap up before turning to be led from the stage.  
  
Backstage you stare at the award while people are continually moving around you. Interviews, you remember, are typically carried out with each actor after they come offstage.

“It isn’t going to bite you, you know.”

You jump at the sound of Benedict’s voice. You’d forgotten he was going to be a presenter tonight. He must have come backstage during the previous commercial break.  
  
“I’m waiting for it to dissolve into something grotesque and then I’ll wake up from my dream.” You smile up at him, gradually aware that cameras are catching every moment of the exchange.  
  
Benedict nods at the cameraman and the vaguely familiar interviewer who is holding a microphone and waiting for the go ahead to talk with you. “Go on,” he winks and slides his hand over your hip to the small of your back and gives you a slight push towards the waiting men, “There’s food beyond.”  
  
At the mention of food you realize it has been ages since you’ve eaten anything and you are indeed quite hungry. After a brief interview you are released to your own devices in the backstage area. A stagehand directs you back to the buffet type table with a warm congratulations and you are nearly there when you pause at a monitor to watch what is happening with the ceremony.

The category that followed your best supporting actress win was supposed to be male lead but you’ve missed the announcement and acceptance while you were being interviewed, all you catch is the applause before the camera zooms in on Benedict introducing the nominees for lead actress.

You turn back to the table and carefully pick up a napkin and snag a few crackers, not daring to try any of the more colorful foods that dot the table. Your costume designer always watched you like a hawk when you took breaks during filming because you had a knack for accruing random stains on her wardrobe. You move towards the end of the table and see champagne flutes bubbling gently.You glance down at your hands, one holding your award, the other with the napkin of food.

A soft touch over your shoulder blades alerts you to your company moments before his cologne registers. “Need a hand, darling?”  
  
Tom’s laugh once again sends your heart fluttering mad rhythms around in your chest. You realize he is holding a similar award in his hand. He won best actor and you missed it.

Who do you know with a DVR who set the show to record? You should invest in one, but then that would require a permanent address other than back home. Who are you kidding, your parents will be recording the show - not to mention all the sites that will have highlights from tonight.

Tom motions for you to pass over the award in your hand so you can pick up a glass. You remember your manners as you claim a champagne flute. “Congratulations by the way.” You smile a bit at him standing there holding both awards. “Oh… would you like a glass? I’ll…”  
  
Before you put down the food so you can hand him a glass he tucks his own into the crook of his arm leaving a hand free to take a glass from the table. He raises it to toast against your own, “Congratulations to you as well.”  
  
Somehow Tom had managed to bypass the cameramen upon leaving the stage. You step aside to allow him his time with the interviewer, also not wanting to be caught stuffing your face behind the scenes. After offering him congratulations and brief bantering they seem to realize that Tom is holding two awards and wonder where the second came from. You have the champagne flute to your lips, mid sip, when the camera pans wide to include you in the moment.

Awesome.

Glamorous you apparently will never be.

You smile at the camera and toast towards it while Tom shrugs his shoulders, “Can’t resist a lady in need of a hand.”

Women of the world, cue swooning now.  
  
The cameramen seem satisfied with their interview and move on to find other actors still milling about backstage. You can hear the applause that signals the winner for best movie has been announced. The both of you walk back over to the monitor to watch as the cast of the film assembles onstage to accept their award. Tom takes your glass from your hands as you finish your drink, placing both yours and his on the small stand to the far side of the table where other people have placed their discarded glasses.

Benedict joins the two of you and chuckles at the sight of Tom holding both awards, offering you a warning, “Careful, he might try to take both of them home with him.”  
  
You laugh and dip your head in acknowledgement, “He’s welcome to contend with my mother regarding that. I wash my hands on all counts.” You hold your hands up before you in mock surrender before accepting Tom’s handoff of your award.  
  
Tom rests his hand gently on the small of your back, “Shall we get you back to your costars?” The two of them maneuver through the passages with ease to get the three of you back to the cusp of the auditorium.

Benedict mutters softly to you when you look around curiously at the small group of people being blocked by a stagehand. “Waiting for our cue to rejoin the flock. They have it down to a science.”  
  
Now that the last award has been given, the final acceptance speech completed, the host for the night is busy trying to wind up the show and everyone seems antsy to get up out of their seats. It appears that Laura has been waiting for you to appear at the side stage door and she waves her hand, holding up your clutch in silent question.

You nod, thankful that someone had thought to grab it from the nook in your seat. When the host says goodnight the stagehand steps aside allowing the small congregation waiting with you to be free to walk into the auditorium.  
  
Your progress is slow walking back to your seat but you don’t mind, as Tom and Benedict keep pace with you while the three of you are greeted and talk happily with the people that you pass by.

Laura manages to wriggle out of the small group that has formed around your costars to join you, transferring you your small clutch and slipping between you and Benedict to be on your side. She leans close to laugh into your ear, “You were absolutely adorable backstage!”  
  
You blush and wave off her comment. “Awkward is more like it.”  
  
Matt has now found his way to you, followed closely by Andrew. Andrew quickly zeros in on Tom, whom he wrangles off towards the stage to talk one-on-one. He is probably professing his adulation in as many words as he can jam into one sentence. You can’t remember if the two have ever acted in anything together or not...

Matt motions to your award, “Are you going to carry that around with you to the after parties?” He's asking because he is afraid you’ll be tempted to zip back to the place you are staying and then refuse to come back out again.  
  
“Parties?” You raise your eyebrows with a little bit of doubt coming through in your voice. “Just how late are we staying out?”

Though you’ve done well by not pulling your phone out the entire night you give in to temptation and remove it from your clutch to see quite a few missed calls and message-alerts on the screen. Though tempted to scroll through some of them, you decide to wait until you can give them your full attention.  
  
Benedict stops you from replacing your phone in your purse by holding out his hand, “May I?” You quickly unlock the phone and hand it to him, watching as he swiftly types something into it. After a moment he hands it back to you with an accompanied wink on his part, “For future reference.” He has sent a text to a new number he has programmed into your phone. He pauses as Andrew and Tom rejoin the small circle the lot of you have formed, “That way we can ensure we all run into each other tonight.” He motions back to his seat where Luke has meandered to and stands waiting with a few others who are watching Benedict and Tom with interest. Both he and Tom nod at the waiting group in understanding before Benedict adds: “I believe we are being summoned.”  
  
After their departure Matt claps his hands together merrily and looks from Andrew, to Laura, to you. “Where to first?”

\--

You’ve seen a scant few pictures showing the awards show after parties. Matt is determined to lead the way now that Andrew has broken off from the group to most likely meet up with his girlfriend. You link arms with Laura, refusing to let her focus on his departure. You rather giddily point out all the beautiful décor that now graces the hotel’s every surface. They both warned you before you walked into the building about the noise level, and you made sure to put your phone on vibrate so you don't miss an incoming call.

Once Matt positions the three of you at your table you turn your attention to the screen of your phone to scroll through the continues stream of messages from friends and family. Every once in awhile you snap a picture to send to someone. Laura orders drinks for Matt as you notice he has already wandered onto the dance floor. The man just can’t be still. You order a mojito and place the phone on the table beside your award so you can talk with Laura.  
  
You point out her brother, “Should we join him?”  
  
She smiles as she shakes her head at his dance moves, “Best to stay out of harm’s way as long as possible.”

She glances at your phone as it rumbles on the tabletop, the both of you leaning over to see the signal for incoming call being displayed and underneath simply reading the word CUMBERBATCH. She swoops the phone up and answers it before you, “Hello? Why, yes she is sitting right here… Yes… We’re at their table already… Ok.” She grins at you proudly after hanging up. “You may say you are awkward but I know a few men who beg to differ.”  
  
What on earth? You are distracted by the quick return of your server, drinks in hand. You half stand to try to signal to Matt that his drink has arrived and instead quickly spot Tom and Benedict moving through the crowd. Tom is already half dancing as he walks which makes you grin automatically. Both of them stop nearly every step to take photos with people.

You are able to get Matt’s attention and because he is closer ends up reaching the table ahead of the others. He accepts his drink gratefully while shucking out of his tux jacket. He glances back and laughs at the now line of women waiting to talk to Benedict and Tom. “It seems the boys will be busy for awhile.” He turns back to you and holds out his hand, “Care to dance?”  
  
You glance at your award, though you can’t comment before Laura pipes up, “I’ll keep watch! Go. Go.”  
  
You are flabbergasted at how many people keep stopping mid sentence to talk to you as they see you. Matt keeps hold of your hand so he won’t lose you in the crowd. You dance happily with him once he settles on a place on the dance floor. After filming steadily and seeing both Andrew and Matt nearly ever day it was hard to settle into your new routine and not see your friends so often. A few songs play and you both are slightly out of breath so you once again make your way through the congratulatory crowd to get to your table.

Benedict is engaged in a conversation with Laura now, and Tom is in the middle of taking another photo with someone as you walk up. He is the master of taking a selfie, adjusting his considerable height so as not to tower over the other person in the photo. He returns her phone before turning his megawatt smile on you. 

“Well, hello again.” You greet Tom with a smile you hope has half the brilliance of his.

Laura hands you your mojito while still deep in conversation with Benedict. Hopefully this is a good sign, that maybe she will move her attentions on from Andrew. You notice Matt is now distracted by a fan coming up to ask for a photo.  
  
To be heard over the music while you attend your drink Tom moves closer to you. “I hope you are enjoying yourself. And that you don’t mind that Benedict and I are joining your table...” He pauses as another fan approaches him, “Sorry, let me just… Hello darling.”  
  
You slip behind him to squeeze into the seat left available next to Benedict, leaving enough room for Tom to sit, if he gets the chance. Benedict has Laura laughing and you listen curiously.

“Completely addicted to hearing any information whatsoever when the opportunity presented itself.” He pauses to welcome you back to the table, “Matt took his role as your guardian a bit too seriously for those of us who would have appreciated meeting you sooner.”  
  
Laura giggles over her words, referencing both Benedict and Tom. “Fanboys.”  
  
Tom concludes the exchange with his fan and seats himself next to you, joining the conversation with ease. He had apparently been multitasking while still being completely attentive to the fan. “Ben, the entire time, is swearing to me that Matt is trying to work something out for when everyone is available.”  
  
You look at Matt to find him grinning triumphantly, particularly pleased by your confusion. “Never breathed a word of it to her. Ha. I had a hard enough time getting her to stop talking about your respective careers as it is.”

Ah - here comes the blushing again. You would smack him if you could reach him.

Imploringly you look to Laura but she’s too busy laughing merrily at your expression.

The rest of the night becomes a blur of dancing, good conversation, fan photos, and introduction after introduction to celebrities you can’t believe you are getting the chance to meet. At some point during the evening Tom, too, removes his suit jacket -- still looking dapper in his lovely white shirt and dark vest that perfectly accentuate his form.

You are sure you have danced enough to remove any remote semblance of composure. Around five in the morning everyone is in agreement that it is time to call it a night and head in their separate directions.  
  
Lying in bed, thankful to be both free of the heels you had been wearing, and to have washed the sweat from the party away, you scroll through the additional contacts in your phone that you’ve accumulated through the night.

You’ve already taken a photo proving to your mother that you didn’t lose your award, that it was sitting safe and sound on the dresser nearby. At some point Tom had gotten a hold of your phone and added himself to your contact list, as well as adding a photo of himself making a face as the contact photo associated with it. You’re not even sure when he would have had a moment to do so.

Exhausted from the night’s events you drift off to sleep relaying the whole evening in your head.

\--

The hotel phone is blaring in your ear, jolting you awake with unwelcome force. You grumble as you answer it, still trying to cling to sleep, “Mmmrgffffhello?”  
  
You recognize the voice as belonging to your agent, “Long night? Did you have a good time?” Mark sounds incredibly chipper. He is probably on his third cup of coffee already.  
  
You stretch in the bed and dare to risk peeking at the alarm clock to see it says 7 am. “Oh dear Lord, Mark can I sleep just a bit longer?” You are only half heartedly whining now. He knows that once you are awake there is no getting back to sleep. And that you have to get up because you have appointments to keep today.  
  
“I’m calling from the lobby. I’ve got something to show you. You’ve got until I finish reading this article and then I’m coming up there, ready or not.” He clicks off and you sigh at the phone before replacing it on the receiver.  
  
You quickly jump in the shower and do your best to look presentable despite the lack of sleep. You just finish drying your hair when you hear knocking on your door. You check the peephole to see Mark grinning at you and holding a cup of steaming liquid. You throw open the door to give him a hug and scoop the cup from his hands. “Coffee!”  
  
Mark herds you into the room again and lets you sip at your coffee before examining you, head to toe. “Well, still the same girl I’ve been dealing with these past few months I suppose.” He sits in the desk chair and shifts what you now see to be a stack of newspapers into his lap.  
  
You start to collect your things for the day while he waits. “Did you expect a longer wait? What are those for?” You set aside the much needed cup of caffeine to quickly throw your phone and sunglasses into your handbag.  
  
He grins, “You made quite a splash last night. I would have gone with you had I not already been attending with someone else, you know.” He has several clients he is responsible for. He holds up the stack of papers, “I wasn’t sure how many publications you had linked on your phone so I brought a few for you to read. The clip of Matt having to push you to the stage to accept your award has already gone viral….”

He unfolds the topmost paper and reads you the headline: “ _Bashful Breakout Steals Our Hearts at First Big Event_. Not that I had any doubt that everyone would love you.” He laughs and flips to the next one: “ _Surprised Newcomer wins Best Supporting Actress_. Oh and here’s my favorite…” He waves the paper at you showing the large words plastered across the main page, “ _Battle of the Brits. Cumberbatch, Hiddleston, or Smith: who will win out?_ ” He quotes from the article: “It appears America’s newest darling is square in the sights of three of Britain’s most eligible bachelors. Will the ever loyal costar finally receive top billing in her heart or will… ”

You interrupt his narration by grabbing hold of his arm try to stop him from shaking his hand so you can see the article. The picture was snapped the previous night while you were seated at the table with the three men.  
  
You sit down on the end of the bed and stare at the front page. “Oh. Dear. Lord. They got that to the presses so quickly.”  
  
Mark notices your award still sitting on your dresser and scoops it up, quickly locking it in your room's safe. “I hope you’re ready for a bit more attention.” Mark chuckles. He stands and moves you so you are walking towards the door, taking the article back from you before opening the door to the room. “On the bright side, I think Andrew’s _lovely_ girlfriend will be leaving you alone now.”  
  
While Mark guides you towards the elevators you pull out your phone with the intent of sending each of the three of them a quick text. “Should I warn them? I should warn them, right?”

You smile as soon as you see the silly picture of Tom when you choose to compose a message to him first.

_I hope this doesn’t wake you._

Mark laughs at the concentration with which you are focusing on the phone. “I’m sure they’ve seen it already, or they’re going to as soon as they get up today.”  
  
You continue the message to Tom.  
 _If you haven’t seen it already, we’ve made the papers… This is _____ by the way._

You push send rather than entering to the next line and mutter a curse. You hadn’t finished composing the text yet! You consider sending another but decide to wait until you are sure he is awake before pestering the man. You compose a similar message for Benedict and start to work on the one for Matt as Mark shuffles you out of the elevator into the main lobby and then out the front door of the hotel.

Camera flashes distract you from composing the message. “Oh!”

With a gentle but firm hold on your elbow, Mark guides you through the mess of people on the sidewalk to the car that he had waiting. Once inside you breath out steadily and peer back out the window, waving cautiously at the throngs of cameras. “Er, Mark? Is this normal?”

You glance back at your phone, quickly typing out the message to Matt, knowing that you’ll soon be seeing him.

_Oh goodness! Mark and I were greeted on the sidewalk by so many cameras! You should have seen it! See you soon_.

Matt responds nearly immediately.

_Got a bit of that myself. Should see more of the same as we do our interviews today. Just keep smiling and you’ll be fine. Already here - x_

Once under weigh Mark lets you hold the newspapers. “You would have had some people following you around because of your win regardless. The additional numbers are because of your new acquaintances.” He is clearly enjoying this.  
  
You phone alerts you to a newly arrived text.

_No apologies necessary. You didn’t wake me. I saw a few of the headlines on my way back in from my morning jog. Wonderful choice of photographs as you were stunning in that dress. -Tom_

You read the message over again twice before you feel your heart beating again. Another message follows moments later.

_I feel that we were continually interrupted yesterday. If you‘d like we can discuss the articles over lunch tomorrow? -Tom_

You convey the request to Mark who flips through his calendar to see if you have anything scheduled. Thankfully you are free. You quickly tap out a response as Mark blocks out the afternoon to allot you personal time. Soon your car is slowly pulling up to the curb to let the two of you depart. Mark shepherds you inside and to the dressing room where you find Matt bent over his own copy of the paper.  
  
You’ve missed being able to surprise him in the mornings like you used to do on set so you run over and wrap your arms around him, letting your head settle down onto his shoulder so you can read the paper with him, “Morning.” You see that he has a copy of the paper running the title _Battle of the Brits._  
  
He gives your arm a half hug for all the movement you allow him and turns his head slightly to peck you on the cheek, pausing slightly after he inhales before calling past you, “Mark gave her coffee. Everyone watch out!”  
  
You sigh as you settle into the chair next to him to have your makeup and hair redone for the ever critical cameras. “I think I barely managed two hours of sleep. How about you?”  
  
Matt is still halfway distracted reading the article, which surprises you as he usually has already heard all the latest gossip via word of mouth. He looks briefly up into the mirror to respond so you can see his expression without turning your head. “About the same I’d wager.” You reach and give his hand a squeeze which brings a smile to his eyes. After a moment he sets the paper aside to talk with you while finishing touches are made and the pair of you are ready to go face the cameras. “You were keeping pace with us on drinking for awhile there. How’s your head?”  
  
Thankfully when Laura left around two you'd had enough sense to stop ordering drinks for yourself -- whereas Tom, Benedict, and Matt kept it up for another few rounds.

You laugh, “I can’t lie, I should have stopped sooner than I did, but I don’t feel bad today despite the lack of sleep.”  
  
“I was informed to tell you that you are to go house hunting with Laura soon. We don’t like the idea of you hotel hopping so much.” Matt puts on a show of scolding you.  
  
You half shrug in reply, “Does it really make sense to put down roots somewhere when I don’t know what project I’ll be working on, or where I’ll be, a few months from now?”  
  
He looks on the cusp of speaking again when you are prompted over a loudspeaker to make your way to the stage. He smiles, “That’s up to you.”

He walks just behind you through the hallway to the soundstage, and you glance back just before stepping out into the open area to find him giving you a curious look. You pause but he shakes his head and motions to the large sofa where the pair of you are supposed to sit. Once you both have mics for the show you are allowed to approach the sofa. You sit first, facing your host and trying to get comfortable after greeting them. Matt takes a moment to let you get situated before sitting next to you, leaning back and resting his arm on the sofa behind you. He seems so very at ease while you are still trying to get used to the idea that people really want to interview you and hear what you have to say.  
  
Your host smiles at the pair of you, “We are joined today by two of the stars of the movie Touring Sundays. Let’s get started by first saying congratulations _________ on your win last night. And thank you Matt for encouraging her to actually accept that award.”  
  
Matt shifts in his seat slightly as he laughs, “She would have made it up there eventually on her own I think.” He playfully taps your shoulder before returning his arm to the sofa back.  
  
“Now Matt you are quite used to the media attention by now - particularly after so many successful projects under your belt. Is it any different this go round for you?”  
  
He considers his answer for a moment. “Well I can honestly say I have the best group of fans out there and they have always been very, very passionate about my projects. I still am approached by people recognizing me for past works, and I love that. I think it is a different fan base though, that has followed me on to this part of my acting career. Touring Sundays is quite the opposite of the wild ride that was my Doctor Who days. That isn’t to say that there weren’t moments of drama and heartbreak in the show - but Touring Sundays is in my mind the very opposite of the fantastical elements that make Doctor Who so unique. I have to say I really enjoyed the fact that Touring Sundays settles more into the thriller genre allowing me to explore my own darker side.”

The host nods and let his response hang for a bit before turning to you, “_____ prior to this movie you had only acted in the theater. After you were cast there were a few out there that questioned if you would be able to hold your own against the likes of Andrew and Matt, and then during filming there were a few, shall we say, bumps in the road. Did you ever just stop and look around and think ‘What am I doing here?’”  
  
You laugh. “Of course. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think that once a week. But Matt and Andrew were wonderfully supportive. My audition was actually with Matt acting opposite me, which I only found out the day of. And I was nervous as hell.”  
  
Matt jumps in with the story, “She blew us all out of the water. She walked in, introduced herself and we sort of watched her persona disappear before our eyes. We ran through maybe one or two of the scenes and everybody just knew. And then they called cut and the adorable woman sitting here reappeared like that.” He snaps his fingers gently. “I mean she’s funny, she’s honest to a fault - I learned quickly never to ask her opinion on anything unless I wanted to hear the brutal truth of it. It’s impossible not to think the world of her. Obviously.”

Your host nods and waves their hand to reference what Matt just said. “Your chemistry with your costars is undeniable. In point of fact, after last night you’ve stolen the heart of the nation. Are you planning on going back to the comfort of the theater or will you be seeking to develop your film career here?”  
  
Letting a breath out you smooth your hands over your lap. You try to choose your words carefully as you respond. “I, well, thank you.” You glance over at Matt, “We worked very hard so to hear that is extremely gratifying to know it came across onscreen. I’m not… I can’t quite wrap my mind around the response I’ve received. It’s astounding quite honestly. I walked into that auditorium last night and couldn’t believe I was standing there. This has been quite the journey for me. I can’t really speak as to what the future holds. I’m just trying to enjoy the gifts of the present.”

You’ve been trying to delay making a decision on that front. Perhaps it is time to quit avoiding the issue - choose one of the scripts that Mark has sent to you and move forward.  
  
“Before we run out of time, to satisfy my personal curiosity, any comment on the possibility of a sequel?”  
  
Both you and Matt look at each other and smile. With every mention the odds of such a thing happening increases. “They did leave the option open, I think. And I certainly would love to reprise my role!” Matt responds enthusiastically and squeezes your shoulder again, “But like she said, who knows what the future holds.”  
  
Once the show concludes you and Matt stay to visit with the host for a bit before making your way back to the dressing room to gather your things and then meet back with Mark who had been watching the monitors during the interview. “You know it _is_ ok to say that you’ve received scripts for potential projects.” Mark is shaking his head slightly though you see he is smiling as he speaks.  
  
“I haven’t gone to any auditions though Mark. I don’t want to speak out of turn.” You hear your phone alerting you to a missed call and attempt to dig it from your bag. Upon retrieval you shake your head, marveling at the number of messages that appear along with the tone for the missed calls.

The calls are from your mother and father alternatively which makes you smile. You hadn’t called them this morning during your trip to the studio for lack of time and fear of waking them with the time difference. Before checking on your voicemails from them, you scroll through the messages on your phone, finding one from Benedict. You laugh again at the fact that he programmed his surname into your phone in all caps.

_Quite the article(s). Reading in free moments between scenes. Thoroughly enjoyed meeting you last night. Staying in town long?_

At least a week, you figure, though you aren’t really sure now that your promotional period for Touring Sundays is drawing to a close. You respond as such and continue to scroll through your messages while pondering how much truth could possibly be in the Battle of the Brits article. Matt had never once broached the subject of a romantic interest in you during the long months of production. You are tempted to glance at him sidelong but you know he can read your expressions easily so you continue to look at your phone.

There are also another few messages from Tom.

_Pacing trying to learn lines and instead find my thoughts on lunch tomorrow. I have a plan. -Tom_

The following timestamp showing that the next message was sent shortly thereafter.

_That was terribly uninformative. Dress for comfort. See you tomorrow. Back to the pages! -Tom_

You are curious both about the plans for tomorrow and what he is working on but decide to leave him to his studies.  
  
Matt rides with you and Mark to the next venue. He is tapping the pads of his fingertips over his knee while once again burying himself in the tabloids. You use the transit time to listen to the voicemails from your parents. You can hear the phones ringing in the background of your mother’s call - she sounds stressed but pleasant. You are tempted to surprise her with a visit but you know that arriving unannounced results in very little free time to spend with you. She is the very definition of workaholic and loves every minute of it. Evidently she talked with your father and they decided he would display your award first, then she would get a turn. You smile as she muses over the point of a general contractor showing off such an award in his office. Your dad’s message follows essentially the same theme - he’s so proud of you etc. etc.

You adjust your sunglasses and turn in your seat to stare a hole in Matt until he surfaces from the gossip column that seems to have him transfixed.

After a minute he feels your gaze and looks at you questioningly. “What?”  
  
“What could possibly be written in there that you don’t already know?” You pull the tabloid from his lap. “They sure didn’t get very good information about our dynamic. Romantic interest? We’ve always been excellent friends sure… I wonder who their source is?”  
  
Matt furrows his forehead but quickly shakes off the expression. “I was trying to figure that out myself. At least you won’t have to suffer through more rumors regarding Andrew.”  
  
You puff out a breath. “They’ve just pulled a different spin on my love life.” Mark is doing his best to appear disinterested in your conversation by scrolling through pages on his tablet but you can see that his eyes aren’t reading the text before him. “I don’t understand what is so interesting about me… And I hate that they’ve pulled you in to the melodrama.”  
  
Both men are rolling their eyes, though Mark is the one to comment. “That’s what this life is. You are going to have to work to ensure that you have a private part to your life as well. Just because you are in the public eye doesn’t mean you have to let the public claim everything about you.” Mark has told you this time and again, pretty much every time you delve too deeply into reviews and fan comments. At least he still bothers to reassure you, you reason. “Speaking of which, do you have a plan for tomorrow? Have the two of you talked about where you will be meeting? Do you need me to schedule a driver at all?”  
  
You shake your head at Mark and explain the new development to Matt excitedly.

He purses his lips at you while trying to suppress a grin, “That sounds a lot like a date. I can see the papers after they catch the two of you trying to slip quietly into a restaurant.”

The car is slowing to be processed through security and be allowed through the large gates that you can see stretch along the street blocking the buildings beyond from public access. You start to smile though the thought makes you nervous.

“And you’re already smitten.” Matt is adjusting his own sunglasses in preparation for stepping out of the car into the glaring sunlight. “Mores the pity to every man out there hoping to win your heart. Now you know why I stalled introducing you to the man. None of the rest of us can compete!”  
  
\--  
  
After an exhausting, though thoroughly enjoyable day hanging with Matt that was devoted to interviews regarding Touring Sundays, you are happy to follow Mark’s advice to buckle down and consider the scripts you’ve been ignoring. You've just gotten frustrated after reading half a dozen scripts and not connecting with them the way you did immediately with Touring Sundays.

Mark really just wants a straight answer on what direction you plan on going next. He’s promised to bring by dinner as well as more offers that have been sent in to him, along with your mail. He doesn’t stay long, for fear that his presence will distract you from what he has tasked you with.

You eye the now daunting stack of manuscripts before delving into your mail. Really, had the man wanted you to truly focus, he shouldn’t have brought you options. You write out a few short notes in response while you pick at your dinner before finally setting it all aside to do what you had promised. You pull the top three from the stack and push the rest aside before settling into the desk chair and examining what you’ve selected.  
  
It’s amazing that Mark hasn’t gotten more irritated with you over your delay in decision making. He has done the initial screening process, even writing notes to you on sticky notes and pasting them inside the cover page so all you have to do is figure out if you want to participate and let him know.

The poor man has infinite patience.

The first he has indicated to be a quasi-romance, whatever that is supposed to mean.  _Give it a few pages to develop_ , he has warned. As he surmised, it takes you a little while to warm up to the pace of the story, but you find that once you are several scenes in you’ve become invested in seeing what happens to the characters, Jack and Emily. You flip back to the page where Mark’s sticky note is and write yourself a note regarding your thoughts just below his. 

Pausing, you stretch back in the chair and turn to look out the window at the setting sun. Your room has a decent view over the cityscape though you had told Mark that it didn’t really matter if you were placed elsewhere.

Before allowing yourself to get distracted you scoop up the next in line, standing to stretch your legs a bit as you read Mark’s note. _Futuristic setting - which is something you’ll probably adore. Ensemble cast. A few people have already committed but I’m not telling you yet so don’t even ask._ You glance aside at your phone, tempted to try to dig out the information on your own but then you notice his next sentence. _Rather than cheat and look it up online just read the damn script._

You laugh at how well he knows you and do as you’re instructed. He is right in his assessment, you love the setting and find yourself walking the room as you progress through the scenes you have been given.

About three fourths of the way through you find another post it from Mark. _Ok I know you’re dying to call me. Pick up the phone, regardless as to what time it is._ Instead of calling, you text him, determined not to be completely predictable. It is rather late now, but you have it in writing that the time of day doesn’t matter. Your excitement translates into several messages worth of information, babbling about characters and plot analysis. Tossing the phone back onto the desk you continue reading, though you haven’t been reading for another five minutes before Mark responds to your texts. 

You pick up the ringing phone to hear him laughing, “So I take it you are interested. How much progress have you made in the dozen you have with you?”  
  
“I have been making progress but the first few… I mean up until today I didn’t really feel any draw to them. Obviously I like the science fiction piece.”  
  
Mark is probably nodding though all you hear is the grunt noise he makes that sounds more like a suffocated laugh. “I told you that you wouldn’t just fall in love with the very next thing you read. It sounds like you got discouraged. I’m glad that has changed though. What others did you like? I’ll reach out regarding both tomorrow and let you know what I hear.”  
  
Comforted that Mark was pleased that you were finally giving him feedback, and finally having found another project that sparked some interest, you settle into your bed to finish the script. Falling asleep after being so thoroughly engaged is an impossibility so you try to settle yourself with breathing exercises until you are able to drift off.  
  
The sun hasn’t risen when you wake up. Just on the edge of sleep you can barely grasp the fringes of the pleasant dream you had been having though you eventually give up, pushing yourself out of bed.

You wander over to the desk, tempted to dive back into reading scripts but you know that is a risky undertaking as you might once again get sucked in - or worse yet, double back into your streak of disinterest.

Feeling doubt begin to creep its way back in you quickly grab your ipod before checking just how bad your bed head is. Light to moderate, so you toss your hair up into a sloppy bun and slip your feet into a pair of running shoes. While wandering down to the hotel’s gym you select a play list that you think might keep your mind busy. You run, the only person in the middle sized gym.

During filming you had to learn a bit of self defense and kick boxing, and you miss the physical exertion that was involved in the training. Perhaps, if you are accepted for a role in the area you can start to build a life here - maybe look at renting or buying a house, joining a gym…

There is more than one treadmill in the room so you don’t feel compelled to watch for other guests just yet, just in case someone else decides to get in an early morning run the same as you. You push yourself to go a little faster than your normal workout pace. When the next person arrives they pause only slightly in the doorway, probably expecting the room to be empty for their own workout routine. You glance at the tiny window to the room to see that the sun has finally come up, deciding that your grueling pace allows for a shorter time spent in the gym. You slow your pace to cool down for a few minutes before wiping down the machine and leaving the other guest to some privacy. You stop by the breakfast buffet to snag an apple, opting not to sit and enjoy what looks to be delicious eggs or waffles since you are covered in sweat. 

Once back in your room you risk an early morning call to your father - purely to check in and let him know you’re thinking of him. He talks a bit about an expansion his crew is working on that keeps growing in complexity per the owner’s requests. You let him ramble on for a bit, knowing he’ll have to hang up before long to try to organize his various teams for projects for the day. He doesn’t say goodbye before reminding you to send your award to him and explaining the beautiful case he is going to have built to hold it.

After showering you opt for a classic fitted t-shirt and shorts pairing for your outing with Tom today.

You stop to stare at yourself in the mirror. You are going to hang out with Tom Hiddleston today. You are an award winning actor. In your brief time in the world you’ve already met so many of your acting idols… you could quit tomorrow and still be contented with your career. Well, no, that isn’t entirely true.

You let your hair air dry before pulling it up loosely. This is a much different look from how Tom saw you at the awards show, you will be so short standing next to him! You are about a foot shorter than him without wearing those heels. The thought of wearing the heels again, or any shoe other than your Chucks really isn’t tempting in the slightest. He said dress for comfort so that’s what he is going to get.  
  
Checking the time makes you antsy, it is still entirely too early in the morning. You decide to finish reading the so called quasi-romance script that you had started the night before. Though it hadn’t gripped you nearly as much as the science fiction one, you still find yourself curious as to the ending. You can’t decide if you want the pair to succeed as a couple or not - both Jack and Emily have faults and they seem to feed each other’s bad habits.

Instead of reading at the desk you move over to the window and sit on the ledge until the position becomes uncomfortable. A quick check on the time assures you that you can read awhile longer yet, so you look to make sure of how many pages are left in the script. There are only a handful of pages ahead which causes you to frown. The story doesn’t seem like it will be concluded in the limited space provided. The instability of the relationship of the couple is starting to amass into a full on break between them, the spiteful words growing more frequent.

You are reading quickly, speed reading really, trying to figure out what happens. Mark frowns at this when you do it and you can instantly hear him in your head scolding you to slow down and take in the nuances of the work.

The characters are fighting in the car on the way home. A split is definitely in order, you think, considering the hate that is overflowing. Emily goes so far as to remove the engagement ring, the symbol of the hope you had for them, and throws it at Jack. The next page punches the air out of your chest and you have to read it again.  
  
  
 _Jack reacts to Emily throwing the ring at him.  
_

 _CUT TO:  
_

 _Collision of Jack and Emily’s car with another vehicle passing through intersection out of turn. Vehicles are spun into mangled mess. Jack and Emily’s car is upside down when the vehicles finally come to rest.  
FADE OUT  


CUT TO:  


JACK  
Coughing, wipes his face to find blood. Dripping action brings something to his attention on the roof of the car near his head. He uses the now bloodied hand to reach out and pluck the ring up off the cloth surface to study it. Moments pass before recognition dawns. His breathing picks up, remembering now the impact of the vehicles. He begins to struggle with the prolonged time he has been hanging upside down.  


PAN OUT TO INCLUDE:  


EMILY  
Out of focus while camera still watches Jack’s progress.  


JACK: Em? (a beat)  
Sweetheart?  


Jack pauses in his struggle against his seatbelt to wait for some reaction from his fiancée. None occurs. The ring drops, forgotten, back onto the roof of the car when Jack’s struggles against the seatbelt resume with more ferocity.  


JACK: Em. Emily!  


The seatbelt releases him. Jack drops into a heap onto the roof of the car. Sirens are softly announcing their approach to the scene. Jack clutches his hands to Emily. He searches, desperate for a pulse but finds none.  
  
_  
A sob escapes you and you simply drop the screenplay. You suck in a breath, trying to control the pressure you feel in your chest. It takes you longer than you’d like to reign yourself back in.

Of course your phone chooses this very moment to ring. Before even looking at the caller ID in your distress you answer it, stuffy I’ve-been-a-crying-mess voice and all. “Y-Yes?”  
  
“_______, is that you? Are you ok?” The concern in Tom’s voice merely amplifying the sudden jolt of emotion.  
  
You try to shake yourself out of this reaction. With a sniffle you try to laugh, “I - I’m reading a script… I’m alright, really.” You look at the clock to realize it is nearly eleven. Tom had said he wanted to meet you in the lobby of your hotel in a few minutes. The noise of the wind rustling tells you that Tom is on his way to meet you.  
  
Tom doesn’t immediately reply but you can hear his breath and the background noises of the surrounding city. “I’m almost there. Do you need a key card to use the elevators?” He pauses waiting for your affirmative response. “Ok, call down and let them know that I’ll need access. Take a breath. One block left and I’ll be at the lobby doors.”  
  
Your voice is still a little unsteady but you don’t still feel the need to throw up. “I’ll use the hotel phone. Hang on…” You juggle your phone to your other hand to pick up the hotel phone and dial down to reception. Returning that phone to it’s hook you sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Ok.”  
  
The background noise lessens and you can now hear Tom’s footsteps echoing on the lobby floor. Evidently someone from reception has met him at the front door as you can hear them momentarily explaining how to use the keycard in the elevators before you hear the signal announcing the arrival of the contraption. “They told me your floor and room number.” He explains before you can question how he knows where to go. “You sound a little steadier now….”  
  
Sudden realization flashes in your head that he is in the elevator about to walk into your room. The room is in disarray with the desk covered in scripts, the bed halfway unmade, and you, sitting there immobile. You reach back to throw the covers back up on the bed.

Tom laughs a bit as the elevator dings and echoes down your hall to announce his arrival on the floor. “I hear rustling. What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m trying to not make you think I’m a complete slob.” You reply. You stop moving when you hear Tom rap his knuckles on the door, again the noise echoing through the phone.  
  
You cross the room, still clutching the phone to your ear and open the door to see him end the call and pocket his phone. His smile removes any lingering pangs of sadness, replacing it with a rush of adrenaline which you know means a magnificent blush. He steps to you and leans close, his eyes searching yours for any hint of sadness as his hands lightly touch over your cheeks and down your neck. “Alright now?”  
  
Aside from the overwhelming urge you now feel to toss yourself at him, you’re good.

You inhale slowly, the scent of his cologne mixing with the still lingering hint of toothpaste on his breath. You reach up to grasp one of his wandering hands in your own, “I feel a little silly now. It just caught me off guard.” You release his hand and step back to allow him into the room fully aware of how tiny it seems with the both of you in it.  
  
Tom’s eyes fall on the script which you have neglected to pick up. He strides over and scoops it up, holding it out in question to you, “Mind? Which scene?”  
  
You flip to the offending section and allow him a moment to read by stepping into the bathroom to survey just how much damage you may have done to your meager application of makeup. Thankfully your complexion hasn’t suffered too much damage - the unsightly red splotches that result from a hard cry are nearly reabsorbed and mostly hidden by your now subsiding blush.

You stand in the doorway to watch as Tom scowls and flips back a few pages in the script. He glances up at you, the scowl still in place, “This is supposed to be a romance? This is a tragedy!”  
  
“Maybe the paramedics save her? And the near death experience changes her attitude towards life - and makes him realize all that he could have lost? At any rate I’m hooked enough I want to audition for the part…” You hug your arms tightly around yourself and look down at the floor, noticing your bare feet. “Oh I’m going to make us late!” You jump out of your pose and walk to the dresser to pull out your socks. You turn back to face Tom to notice the slightly delayed flit of his eyes back up your body to your face.  
  
He coughs and leans forward to balance his elbows on his knees, the action causing his sunglasses to pull the V neck of his shirt a little lower. “We won’t be late. There’s no real time restraint. Hopefully, just a pleasant day.”  
  
You notice in addition to his sunglasses that he has a hat that you assume had been shoved into his back pocket, judging by the current state of it. He notices your gaze and nods, “It helps when walking around.”  
  
Remembering the whole point of the pair of you meeting today you start to talk as you lace up your shoes. “I hope that those silly articles won’t be causing any friction between the three of you. Matt seems fine with it all, though he said he doesn’t know where they’ve gotten some of their information. Most likely the article was going to be written regarding some sort of romance between us and then they saw the opportunity to add you and Benedict into it…”

You glance up to find that Tom doesn’t appear upset but rather the opposite.  
  
“I really don’t mind be added at all.” He looks you up and down, “Good now?”  
  
You dig through your belongings to retrieve a ball cap of your own and your sunglasses before looking to him, “Do I need to bring anything else?”

He gives you a shake of his head but you grab your card and ID just in case. You’ve forgotten where your phone ended up but pat your pockets to realize it sits in its usual spot in your back pocket. He stands, reminding you once again that you are nearly a foot shorter than him before motioning to the door to let you lead the way out.

In the elevator you try to question him about his plans for the afternoon, “Any hints on where we’re going?”  
  
The only explanation he offers isn’t much help, “Just something that gives us a little bit of a different pace than our lives tend to offer.”

Someone from the reception desk waves as you exit the elevator, hurrying around the counter to intercept the pair of you before you can make much progress through the lobby. “I’m afraid going out the front might be a little complicated guys.” Tom smiles appreciatively at the clerk who motions towards the other side of the building, “Someone will meet you at the opposite door. Hope it helps…”  
  
Both you and Tom don your hats and sunglasses as you approach the other side of the building and the referenced employee and door. Tom pauses to thank the man before following you out the door into the side street. He motions to the north, waiting for you to start walking before falling in beside you. You steal the occasional glance at his face while the pair of you make your way along the sidewalk.

“Ben says you plan on staying for at least the week. I assume from the stack up scripts back there that you’re deciding on what to do next.” He takes a moment to smile at you though he quickly looks forward again to watch the foot traffic.  
  
“I’ve been avoiding making any decisions. Mark isn’t happy that I delayed this long but it certainly has made it easier to be available for appearances. I was tempted at first to just turn around and go right back to the theater, to something safe, something I know…” You check to make sure of Tom’s reaction. He is nodding. “Being sought after is so very different than what I was used to. I mean I was known in my little community but nothing like my experience out here.”  
  
The pair of you pause to cross the street at the crosswalk and Tom takes advantage of the pause in motion to sway his body towards yours, briefly connecting his side to yours. “I keep hopping back and forth between motion pictures and the theater myself. I know you’ll be wonderful no matter which direction you choose to pursue.”  
  
You relish the contact between the two of you, growing more confident in the fact that he seems to keep initiating it. “Ah-hah. Thank you for the vote of confidence.”  
  
“More than happy to oblige.”  
  
It doesn’t take long to cover the distance of a few blocks and Tom catches your arm as you walk past the entrance to one of the numerous public parks in the area. You had been distracted by talking to him about various theater jobs you had fulfilled, starting as an understudy before finally being given a supporting role, so the action catches you by surprise. You give him a questioning look, “Hmm?”  
  
Entwining his arm with yours Tom leads you into the park. “I thought it might be nice to walk around and enjoy a bit of greenery while the weather is so inviting.”  
  
You nod, realizing it has been a long time since you’ve spent any extended period of time outside since concluding filming the on-location scenes from Touring Sundays. It seems like ages now.

Tom is looking towards a little building off to your left. “What is it?” you ask.  
   
He appears a little sheepish, “I was remembering an interview I did where they let us rent a row boat and go out on the water… I wonder…” He starts to grin as he steers the two of you towards the building.  
  
“It may not be the right time of year…” You remember that back home there is a limited, few week period, where most places rent out canoes and the like for those who wish to go out on the lakes.  
  
You watch the attendant’s reaction to your approach. The girl halfway glances up from her phone to do a double take. You smirk as her jaw drops when Tom comes to a stop in front of the window she is manning.  
  
Tom smiles at her in greeting, “Hello. Do you rent out row boats here?”  
  
She nods slowly. You sympathize with her reaction as you just experienced it, what was it now, two days ago?  
  
“Ten dollars per hour… I’ll… I’ll radio down.” She manages to squeak out a reply, her eyes still wide with wonder. He thanks her and pulls some money from his pocket. You don’t notice how much he hands her but she looks from the money up to him, still mildly in shock before punching a series of buttons and placing the cash in the register when the drawer pops out. As the pair of you walk down towards the waterfront the attendant has finally found her voice and shouts after him, “I love you!”  
  
He turns back to grace her with a smile and you giggle at him once the pair of you continue down the path towards the water, “You just made her day, Tom.”  
  
“I’ll have to remember to get a picture with her later if she’s still working when we leave.” He replies.

Tom refuses to let you have control of the oars once in the boat. You take advantage of his preoccupation with the oars and figuring out where to direct the boat to take a few pictures with your phone of him sitting across the boat from you.  
  
“I’ve got to document all this showing off. Imagine, Tom Hiddleston trying to impress a girl with his rowing.”  
  
He laughs before speaking, his voice lower with the physical exertion, “Determinedly so.” You put a hand to your cheek to try to hide your face. He stops rowing, resting his arms on the oars while the boat glides across the water. “And there’s that lovely blush again. You have to know that only encourages me.”  
  
You fan at your face and shake your head, only half heartedly glaring at him. “I seem to blush whenever I’m near you, Tom, no matter the activity. All you have to do is… that. Exactly.”

He is grinning joyously at you and your comment only makes his smile brighter. You squirm under his gaze though there is no escape unless you care to go swimming.  
  
With a little more rowing on Tom’s part the boat reaches the small amount of shade provided by a small stand of trees that sit atop the tiny island in the center of the body of water. He stretches his legs out a bit in the boat after securing the oars.

You lose all track of time, floating around across the murky water with Tom and covering any topic that seems to pop into your heads. Occasionally Tom situates the oars to scoop them into the water, propelling the boat slowly to another location. At the growling of your stomach both you and Tom check to realize you’ve been out on the water for a little over two hours.  
  
Sheepishly you laugh, pressing your palm to your stomach. “I had an apple this morning. Didn’t want to torture the other guests after I was in the workout room.”  
  
“Well, then we certainly must feed you.” He expertly swings the boat back around in the water to head towards the docks.  
  
Tom helps you out of the boat to the clicks of cameras. It seems that the photographers that had been out in front of your hotel have finally tracked the pair of you down. A few of them have video cameras or are using their phones to take video so you do your best not to be your naturally clumsy self. Tom’s confidence is catching, and the pair of you field questions amiably as your walk along with the group back through the park towards the little building where Tom had rented the boat. The attendant is still there at the window - though you imagine if it were you and your shift had ended you would have found any number of reasons to stay just to be able to see Tom. While Tom signs something for the attendant you are suprised by a few in the growing crowd that recognize you and ask for your autograph.

A young man cheerfully offers his back so that you can sign his notebook. “How dumb was it that they kept pairing you with Andrew?” He is chattering while you sign the note to him. “Well, I mean you guys like totally had chemistry on screen but…” He shakes his head so hard it makes your writing a bit wobbly. “No way did it make sense.” You pat his shoulder to let him know you’re done, handing him the notebook and pen as he turns back around. He glances from you over to Tom who is now walking over to join you. “Tom totally rocks though.” He holds out the notebook towards Tom who grins as he accepts it and the pen.  
  
Tom leans to mutter into your ear after returning the young man’s notebook to him, “We will get food after this - though we might need to call for some help.” He glances around at the group that is gradually growing larger and larger with curious onlookers joining to figure out what the cameras and commotion is about.  
  
You know how conflicted he is feeling as you are feeling the same way. An idea strikes you, but you are unsure if it will succeed; Tom’s fan are incredibly respectful and protective of him though, so you go for it. “Hey guys - anybody have any suggestions for where to grab something to eat?”  
  
Tom smirks at you before leaning over to better hear one person’s suggestion over the group’s assorted responses. Of course thumbs are flying over the phones so you know you will be joined wherever you choose but at least the group is cognizant of the fact that the pair of you want to eat. Tom motions to someone, striking a pose that delights both the fans and the paparazzi.  
  
“That sounds delicious. And you say they have gelato?” He looks at you with raised eyebrows and you give him a thumbs up. After confirming directions with the woman who made the suggestion he moves to rejoin you while the pair of you still sign things for fans. It only takes a few more moments before park security joins the group, clearing a path for the two of you to leave the park in a matter of minutes. Tom’s hand once again finds it way to the small of your back as he shepherds you along the streets towards your destination.


	2. Chapter 2

You are glad for your ball cap as you can somewhat hide behind it while walking along the street. You were raised to remove hats indoors though, so you place your hat and sunglasses on the table -- happy to see Tom does the same, all the better to see his expressions.

He stubbornly refuses to let you pay for anything, which is both endearing and maddening. Tom had scooped the check up from the table before you even had a minute to reach towards the card held in your pocket.

You can only manage one word in protest, “But…”  
  
He laughs when you scowl at the waiter already walking away with payment. “Not a chance.”  
  
“You will relent eventually and let me pay for _something_ …” The number of people who have amassed on the sidewalk outside of the restaurant where you and Tom have stopped for your late lunch has steadily grown during the duration of the meal. You can’t help but continue to steal glances out the window to see the crowd. “Tom is it like this everywhere you go?” You reach out across the small table to rest your fingers over his wrist.  
  
Tom now too glances out the window, “Not in the beginning, but sometimes these days.”  
  
You absent-mindedly trace circles over Tom’s forearm while you are thinking. “I suppose I knew that. I’ve seen so many of the photos of you in transit or shopping.” You pause and lift your fingers from his skin when you realize what you’ve just admitted to.  
  
Oh how you love the way Tom laughs. He flips his hand over now and catches your fingers in his. “But then some days are worth capturing on film.”  
  
What were you saying? Something about Tom’s fingers? No… something about those gorgeous eyes. No that wasn’t it either. Breathing. That’s important, but no… that’s supposed to just happen. Inhale. Exhale. That’s right.

You give Tom’s hand a squeeze to jumpstart your reply, “Stop that!”  
  
His grin never falters. “What?”  
  
You unclasp your hand from his and maneuver his fingers to find your sporadic pulse at your wrist. “Feel that? Every. Damned. Time. You. Flirt. Makes it feel like a dance party inside my chest.” You pull your hands into your lap before you tilt your head towards the restaurant’s big bay windows and the cameras beyond. “Unless you’d rather them get a good action sequence of the paramedics rushing in to resuscitate me.”  
  
“I make no promises.” Tom surveys the crowded restaurant before looking at his watch. “I suppose we should let them have the table back.”  
  
“Not to mention their sidewalk.”  
  
Tom hasn’t yet unfolded himself from behind the table so you remain seated as well. He was the one that mentioned leaving and yet there he sits. Tom grins at your befuddlement and bows his head slightly while he speaks. “I find the more I know of you the more I wish to know.” He shakes his head and holds out his hand to you as he stands, essentially escorting you up from your chair. “Shall I walk you home?”  
  
You smile up at Tom as he moves to stand between you and the scores of cameras waiting on the sidewalk. You comment before reaching the door where you know the noise outside will obscure your words. “We have spent all afternoon together, what more could you possibly wish to know?”  
  
A lopsided smirk graces his lips, “Were there but more hours in the day.”

The both of you agree it best if Tom merely walked you to the front of your hotel. As tempting as it was to invite him in, the moment is not yours alone. He does wait ensure you are safely deposited with hotel security before cheerfully waving goodbye to you, and the cameras, and making his way on to the house he is renting while in town.

During the walk you had made him promise to let you know that he had arrived safely, but the first text comes through before you have even made it out of the elevator onto your floor.

_Bearing in mind that salsa dancing pulse of yours… which I now miss mere moments after departing your company... If your plans change regarding the length of your stay, consider me first in line for notification._

Of course you will notify him, of course.

_I think half of them are waiting for me to turn right back around._

You grin at your reflection in the elevator doors after responding to him. You imagine him chuckling as he sends you the texts.

_Texting while walking is dangerous, Tom. That’s how you walk into barriers._

The elevator chimes to alert you to its arrival at your floor and you jump, caught up in your exchange with Tom. He replies moments later:

_Sounds like there is a story there that I want to hear. Don’t worry though, I doubt my walking companions would allow a misstep._

You try to ignore the giddy urge you feel to throw caution out the window, tell Tom to halt his progress down the street, run out to the sidewalk and throw yourself into his arms. You shake your head while fumbling with the keycard to your room, chiding yourself for the impractical whim. What was it your mother had told you - something about leaving them wanting more? She was right, she usually was, but that guideline also left you wanting more too.

You are greeted by candid shots of you and Tom at the restaurant and strolling through the park everywhere you look in the coming days - it seems to be the top story circulating for the time being. None of the photos will ever best the ones you possess on your phone of Tom seated across from you in the little row boat - those pictures are yours though, no one else’s.  
  
Mark had delivered the news that the science fiction piece that you had been interested in had already cast the main part for which he had thought you would be auditioning for, but they still wanted you to come in regardless. There were other smaller roles which honestly fit more squarely into your comfort zone, though you recognized Mark’s insistence that you push yourself.

Happily, or unhappily, you aren't sure which yet, the role of Emily is still unfulfilled - participating would allow you to stay in the city awhile longer while also allowing you to be more readily available for future projects. You are grateful that they don't request to use the crash scene in your audition as you have yet to be able to read through it without feeling sucker punched.  
  
Though you chat on the phone nearly every day, scheduling has prevented you from seeing Tom again since the afternoon in the park. You distract yourself from the quite insistent yearning you feel every time you talk to him by going house hunting with Laura, as promised, and pouring through the remaining scripts that Mark had provided.

Still, nothing quite matches being in Tom’s presence.  
  
When your phone chirps you immediately pick it up to hear Tom’s voice over the line, “Dancing.”  
  
“Pardon?”  
  
“Dinner and dancing.”  
  
You laugh and pinch the bridge of your nose. He had been working all day and still seemed bounding with energy. “Well I haven’t eaten yet… but I thought you would need to run lines for tomorrow?”  
  
“You drive a hard bargain. Drinks as well then. Though I had imagined those would have been included in the night regardless. I have to see you. I refuse to take no for an answer, _______.”  
  
You attempt to break through his stream of words before finally sighing and giving in, “Tom. Tom. Thomas…. What time?” You glance between your casual attire and the clock, hoping he will give you enough time to change clothes. You are certainly not dressed for a night out.  
  
You can practically feel the satisfied grin through the phone. “I’m in the car on my way there.”  
  
“I’m a rumpled mess. There’s no way I’m going out with you dressed like this.” You are up and out of your chair as you huff at him.  
  
He chuckles over your exasperation, “I’ll get Edward to let me up if you’re not ready by the time I get there, though if you’d let me, I’d take you out just as you are.”  
  
Edward? Edward… oh, Eddie, the head of hotel security. Is there anybody in your life that Tom hasn’t immediately befriended?  
  
Your hair is still wrapped up in a towel atop your head when you hear knocking at your door. It was surprisingly easy to pick out what to wear - you decided on a taupe and black dress that you hadn’t worn in ages - the dress was simple yet versatile enough for whatever Tom might have up his sleeve. You let the towel drop from your head and hang it over the doorknob to the bathroom before checking your carefully applied makeup and walking to the door to let Tom in. You wager you are presentable, despite the still wet hair.

You open the door to smile gently at Tom, “Hello.”  
  
You watch his chest rise and fall before he steps forward, greeting you with a kiss on each cheek. Standard greeting for those from abroad, though it did take you awhile to get used to such greetings.

He doesn’t step away as you expect, but instead settles you firmly in his gaze and then plants his lips on yours. You are dazed, and floating, and most definitely not wanting dinner at all when he pulls himself apart from you. He clears his throat with a devilish rumble. “I’ve wanted to do that since the awards show.”  
  
You lick your lips to draw a breath and reply but Tom closes the gap between you, rests his hand along the bottom of your jawbone and tilts your head back before kissing you again. There is less gentility this time. You are vaguely aware of the click of the door to the room finally swinging closed as Tom backs you against the wall of your room.

Your brain has latched onto one absurd thought:

Your hair is wet.

You try to swat the thought away with reason, distraction, anything - but it remains firmly lodged.

Wet hair.

Tom is kissing you, what does it matter if your hair is wet?

Wet hair.

Tom smells delicious.

Wet hair.

Tom Hiddleston is kissing you, get it together!

Wet hair.

You release a muffled giggle and he steps back again, allowing the laugh to develop fully. “Wet. Hair.”

  
He nods, slightly confused at your mirth. He has damp spots on his shirt now where your long hair has touched it, which only makes it worse.You shake your head as you clamp down on your rampaging emotions. You press your fingers momentarily to your lips before touching your hair. Smiling you then point to the desk chair, “Sit there or we’ll never get out of here. I’m going to dry my hair. Then you’re taking me dancing.”


	3. Chapter 3

You surprised yourself with the authoritative tone with which you told Tom to sit and wait at your desk. He looked a bit dazed from the kiss himself. If he hadn’t sidestepped towards the desk chair you’re almost positive the plans for the night would have been scrapped in favor of other adventures.

With your hairdryer buzzing uselessly at the ceiling you lean back and peek out the door of the bathroom to make sure of Tom’s whereabouts and ask what time it is. He has busied himself reading more of the _Jack & Emily_ script.  
  
“Hey Tom what ti…. I would have thought you’d be tired of that by now.” Though you tried not to pester him with details about the audition it came up more than once in your phone conversations.  
  
Tom furrows his eyebrows as he looks up at you. “It’s easier to have a discussion regarding a thing when you’re more familiar with it. From the way you were talking yesterday this is becoming one of your passions...” His hands still hold open the script pages but he never removes his eyes from you. “And I want to know about every thing that excites you.”  
  
All the phone calls had made you able to relax a bit more around him, but the thrilling greeting followed by the heat you’re feeling from a mere look when he is seated a dozen paces away… He has you fixed to the spot without moving from the chair. You are glad for the rouge that you’ve applied though it certainly isn’t going to completely cover the fantastic flush he is now causing.  
  
Your reply is delayed by your short nervous laughter, “Are we still talking about the script?” Tom laughs and flicks his eyes to the forgotten hairdryer still whirring away in your hand. “Right. Dinner. Drinks. And if time permits, dancing.” You shake your head and lean back into the bathroom.

Once safely in the bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror you roll your eyes and mouth silently: _Are we still talking about the script?_ Of all the replies… You glare at your reflection while you finish drying your hair. Curse having long hair - perhaps they’ll ask that you cut it for the role of Emily.  
  
You scoop up the bracelet from your mother before reemerging from the bathroom. Tom still sits at the desk reading the script but as you approach him he turns you give you his full attention. You are determined to try to get as much a rise out of him as he seems able to easily get from you. Turnabout is fair play after all. You add a little extra swing to your step to get the dress to flow a little bit - an obvious ploy but you work with what you have. You halt your advance so that you are standing between his splayed legs, just touching the inside of one of his knees with the side of your leg. He had rested his hand atop his thigh but he lifts it to hover in the air behind your back briefly before he reaches up to ruffle his fingers through his hair. The movements draw your attention to his neck where you can see the hints of a flush developing.  
  
You extend your hand palm up, showing him your bracelet as though that was the motive behind your close proximity. “The clasp is a pain one handed,” you explain.  
  
From his seated position the roles are now reversed - it is Tom who has to tilt his head up to meet your eyes. It is ever so tempting to slip into a character, any character, and let that character’s confidence rule you but you are determined to be your nervous, cautious, thoroughly smitten self. Tom carefully retrieves the bracelet from your hand and circles the delicate chain around your wrist. After closing the clasp he turns your hand and brushes your knuckles against his lips before muttering into them, “There now. Ready?”  
  
Removing your fingers from his grasp and before you can second guess yourself you lean over and lightly kiss him. Leaning back again you shake your head and point down at your bare feet. You know exactly which shoes you’re going to wear - the stilettos you wore the night you met Tom. You want the height bonus again so you won’t have to stand on tiptoe to reach those lips all night.

Tom watches you walk to the closet, apparently he took your command to stay seated in that chair very seriously, and slide your feet into the heels.

While still studying your shoes you finally reply to Tom’s question, “I think I’m ready now… If we get through dinner quickly maybe there will be time for other things, well I suppose it depends on where we go?” You estimate you have a few hours before needing to let him get some sleep, poor Tom must be feeling exhausted. You stop rambling and look up to find he is still sitting there watching you. You tilt you head slightly as you return his smile. “What?”  
  
“Just thinking about how lucky I am that I looked over when I did, before the awards show.”  
  
You can’t help but grin as you press your hand to your cheek, “To catch me staring.” Your heart is doing flips again inside your chest.  
  
“To find the woman I had been trying to meet _for months_ standing a few dozen paces away.” Tom gently corrects you. He continues to speak softly, as though you might run from him as he approaches rather than stand there transfixed, “The crowds so often work against you at events like those. One or two people standing in the wrong spot and you would never even notice a friend standing two feet away.”  
  
“You were already talking to Benedict.” You choose to zero in on the part of his words that don’t make your knees feel like they’re going to buckle.  
  
He laughs, now able to reach out to take your hand and spin you to him, pulling you into a silent waltz there in your hotel room. After a minute of dancing in silence he gives you a squeeze, “Ok - we’d better head downstairs or Edward will send someone up. Mark picked a wonderful hotel for your stay in the city, the staff is exceptional here.”  
  
Questions abound regarding why the head of security would send someone to search the pair of you out but you remain quiet until exiting the elevator and Tom heads for the security offices. He grins at you before knocking at the door and adopting a stern expression.  
  
“Tom, what…”  
  
Eddie appears when the door opens and gives Tom a once over before turning his head to survey you. You’re thoroughly lost, wondering what on earth is happening between the two men.

Eddie looks back at Tom and nods at him, “Alright. Have her home before midnight young man.” He can’t quite get through the exchange without laughing. He hands Tom a pass similar to that which opens your hotel door, “Mr. Hiddleston you just need to swipe that to get in and out of our secure parking. We’ll keep an eye out for your return.”  
  
You might have been caught off guard by Tom choosing to drive the pair of you around, but then this is a man who refuses to let his celebrity status change him. At your arrival at the restaurant, you can’t help but grin as he quick steps around the back of the car while the valet slides into the driver’s seat. There are, of course - you don’t know why this continues to surprise you - photographers there documenting the night out. Rather than focus on the cameras flashing you reach out to take Tom’s hand in your own. You promise yourself not to forget that you both have obligations for the following day - Tom his shoot and you a callback to figure out who might be a fitting Jack to your potential Emily.  
  
Even after making reservations you’ve never been able to just walk right into a place and immediately be ushered to a table - benefits of being famous in a city where simply your name will open so many doors. Though the waiter appeared to have wanted the honors, Tom helps you into your chair before seating himself. You’ve muttered thank you so many times in response to his chivalry it is ridiculous. You think you’re slyly keeping track of the time by peeking at Tom’s watch and reading it upside down while you believe him to be preoccupied, either talking with fans or ordering something else from the wait staff. By dessert, and by when you figure he has been up longer than he has slept in the past twenty-four hours, Tom has spotted you.

“Darling worrying about the time won’t halt it’s progress.” He is only half-heartedly scolding you.  
  
You nod solemnly as you reply. “True. And I would love nothing better than to stay out with you. But Tom, you have scenes you need to be alert and ready for in the morning.”  
  
He pulls your hand to his lips before responding. “Thank you for worrying but I’m fine, I promise you. But if it will make you happy -” he chuckles when you nod sharply at him, “we can call it a night.” While waiting for the valet Tom slips his arm around your waist and mutters into your ear, “I hope you had fun tonight. Next time we’ll go dancing.”  
  
“Oh but we did dance Tom.” You remind him, “The waltz?”  
  
Once again you try to keep your hands to yourself while in the car to let Tom concentrate on driving. He threatened to teach you how to drive the manual transmission but you’d rather not destroy the transmission of the beautiful car he's renting.

Finally back in the safety of the secure parking at your hotel you notice a young guard has been given meet and greet duty. Tom hands the youth the security badge through the open drivers side window before turning back to look at you. “Will you call me tomorrow to let me know how it goes with _Jack & Emily_?”  
  
“You wouldn’t rather me text? Won’t it be a distraction?”  
  
He grins at you, “Oh you’re a distraction regardless, but I can multitask. I am a man of many talents.”

You lean over the gearshift and pull Tom into a deep kiss. The poor security guard had been told to wait to escort you inside and looks off towards the underbelly of the hotel while turning a bright crimson at the intimate moment.

Tom huffs when the pair of you finally separate, “Was that supposed to make you less of a distraction?”  
  
You lick your lips before replying. “Nope. That was a thank you for taking me out tonight. And now before I lose all capacity for rational thought I’m going to get out of the car. Goodnight Tom.”

Hearing the roar of the car as Tom drives away you giggle half to yourself, half to the guard, “Yea, no way am I ever trying to drive that.”  
  
The young security guard can’t quite meet your eyes after the pair of you watch Tom exit the lot. Once seeing you inside he glances back nervously at the security offices, where you know Eddie is waiting for the guard to come back with the security card.

In a rushed, low tone he speaks to the floor, “I know we’re supposed to act all cool and not say stuff but I uh, I’m a big fan of you and of Tom…”

He hears the door open  and immediately stops talking, and you can’t help but smile when Eddie steps into the hallway and stares at the pair of you standing in front of the elevators.

Busted.  
  
You speak up so Eddie can hear you from where he stands down the hall, “He was just answering my question about Tom’s car… Thanks again for letting us use the pass Eddie!”

The kid is even more flustered than he was in the security lot, poor thing. When you get on the elevators you get his attention and softly whisper, “I’ll get you autographs. Sorry if you’re in trouble…”

He brightens at this, though you know he’s going to hear it from Eddie once they’re back in the offices.


	4. Chapter 4

Once again you wake up entirely too early of your own accord. To work out some of your nervous energy you wander down to the weight room to run for a bit. You realize belatedly that you’ve left your phone in your room but you don’t need your phone for the half hour you plan on running, right? Your callback isn’t scheduled until ten which gives you plenty of time to obsess over every little detail you can imagine into being before having to slip into the persona of Emily and hopefully finally get confirmation regarding the part.  
  
Comfortably tired from the workout, you head to the elevator to go back up to your room and happen to spot your new friend - the security guard from last night - leaving as he gets off his shift. He looks even younger in plainclothes. Quite the shift, you marvel, for someone so young - but then you held odd jobs while you were working in the theater, just so you could afford your rent.

You give him a friendly wave which he returns with an exhausted but happy smile. On the elevator you remind yourself to relay your promise to Tom when you call him later in the day. You’ve decided on calling him around lunchtime so as to hopefully not interrupt his day. He made you promise that you would call but wasn’t so specific as to when after you went to the callback.  
  
A glance at your phone tells you that half an hour without it, while freeing, is now impractical. Numerous messages now greet you.

_Knock them dead honey._

From your mother.

_The award looks great - go get us another to match!!!_

From your father, with an attached photo of him making a goofy face next to your award in the newly built cabinet.

Mark had sent a series - first regarding the fanmail that he wanted to pass on to you at your earliest convenience, a.k.a. come clear some of this clutter from my workplace - followed by directions to the building where you needed to go today, of which you still had from when he had given them to you earlier in the week - a brief pep talk… remember your training, yadda yadda yadda - and then an oddly phrased text requesting that you call him after lunch because by that time he thought he would know something you would like to hear.

You had sent him the list of places that you had been interested in renting while you stayed in town, perhaps he would have news regarding that? You can't live in the hotel forever, despite how tempting it would be to do so.

Matt also opted for a series of texts:

_If they don’t choose you for Emily they’re mad. -x_

Followed by: 

_Can’t wait to see you and discuss your new beau. -x_

Then: 

 _Laura said the pair of you went house hunting without me. You owe me drinks! -x_  

You try to remember where he is and what he is doing at the moment, judging if you can call and chat. Is he doing interviews or is it something about a photo shoot for a magazine?

The next text doesn't help you decide which activity occupies him:

 _The makeup trailer seems empty without you. When will we coerce someone into making Touring Sundays 2? -x._  
  
You save the texts from Tom for last.

_Good morning darling. Don’t forget your promise to call._

Or what Tom, you grin.

_Before protesting again, my phone is on silent and I will be checking my messages at every available moment until I hear from you._

You shake your head and laugh, imagining Tom sneaking glances at his phone every time the director calls cut. Though it makes you smile you’d feel incredibly guilty if you got him into trouble on set.

_Food provided during our breaks from a wonderful little breakfast spot. I'd love the chance to take you._

This makes you blush. Breakfast with Tom. Breakfast following...  
  
Before your mind can stray down that particularly distracting line of thought another text arrives from Mark:

_Did you get the directions I sent?_

Really, he worries too much about your sense of direction.

_Yes, I’ll let you know when I get there._

You pack up a few things into a satchel in the hopes that you can window shop at some point during the day. To pass the time and distract yourself from the butterflies in your stomach you use your phone to scroll through the media links Mark has sent you. There are so many articles speculating on your connection with Tom - curiosity makes you scan through the titles.

_The new woman in Hiddleston’s life. Battle of the Brits over before it began? Cumberbatch and Smith out of the running on day one. Touring Sunday Stars: Andrew, Matt, & _____ - What’s next for the trio?_

After reading through a few of the articles you get distracted by the copious photos linked to the sites: publicity photos of each of you at the awards show with candid shots from the night as well, more from the after party, walking along the street, even a few from your date the previous night. Scrolling through the photos you are reminded of the long days during the filming of Touring Sundays when you would pass the time by searching out various funny photos and sending them to Matt. You spent an entire week sending Matt the same image of a squirrel with his cheeks overstuffed - it had driven him crazy.   
  
Rather than sit around in your hotel you decide to go ahead over to the location for the callback and maybe find a quiet spot to sit and center yourself before having to disappear into Emily.

You’re early by more than a mere few minutes, which all works out according to plan -- finding a place to sit and collect yourself proves a bit challenging though. As options go, sitting in the lobby isn’t much help because of all the foot traffic… there is a row of chairs near the door that you were directed to go to, but that puts you in the awkward position of having to see who walks out of the room just before you have to go in. Everything has been kept very quiet regarding the project.

You can hear voices coming from within the room through the closed door - or maybe the door is just slightly ajar, why else would you be able to hear anything? You know better than to try to knock on the door to announce your arrival, for all you know they could still be with the previous pairing and interrupting that would be awkward beyond even your standards. You realize the voices have grown a bit more insistent and you can make out the words of the person who is currently speaking and it is certainly not dialogue from the pages you've been given.   
  
“I just don’t see the wisdom in it….”  
  
Part of the response is lower than you can make out… “--thought we had agreed it would be best for the production.”   
  
“Well things changed, maybe we don’t want that anymore.”   
  
“Do we scrap all the other choices we’ve made so far then as well?” Someone was very unhappy about something regarding _Jack & Emily_. “ _You said_ \- you said that casting unknowns was the most beneficial!” 

Oh - your stomach lurches. Oh you really shouldn’t be listening to this, any of this. You should get up and walk back out to the lobby and wait there until it is closer to your appointment time. What if they open the door to find you sitting here? You want to flee but now that your ears have picked up the conversation your body seems to refuse to let you escape.  
  
“Look - you can be on board with this or not but that doesn’t change the fact that we are going to be telling all of them today and…”  
  
The irate voice was even louder, loud enough to make you wince and unglue you from your position, “You still want us to see all of them?! You don’t consider that - I don’t know - a waste of everyone’s time. Now that you’ve unilaterally made the biggest decision we…”  
  
You don’t stay to hear the tirade. You’re already walking down the hall as quietly as you can. You don’t pause in the lobby but burst out onto the sidewalk, the sunshine helps as you do your best to take steady breaths. 

Pull it together. Breathe in,         out. 

In. Out. 

Ok. So they’re going a different way, at least they’re going to tell you rather than leave you waiting for a phone call. 

Breathe in, out. 

Why wait around to hear they don’t want you? You’re feeling petulant but quickly find a reply to the question: you never know what other projects these individuals might have lined up that they might recommend for you. 

Everything is an opportunity. 

You've been turned down for parts you've gotten attached to before. You close your eyes and concentrate on breathing until the urge to throw up subsides. Opening your eyes you sigh up at the building. There’s just one voice you want to hear before you go back inside to face their decision… 

Your fingers are still slightly shaking as you dial Tom’s number. It goes to voicemail, thankfully he did as he said he would and turned the phone to silent.   
  
“Hey -” you scowl when you hear your voice waver and force a smile so your voice changes pitch, “currently standing outside enjoying the beautiful sunshine and thinking of you. Haven’t gone in yet for _Jack & Emily_ but I overheard something I probably shouldn't have… and well, I think they’re going with someone else. Whomever it is I’m sure it’ll do the project wonders. I just… well…”

You look down at your watch and curse. It took you longer to gather yourself than you thought. You’ve got to run back inside or you’ll be late. To top it off, you notice that when you jumped your thumb ended the call. You heave a sigh before turning the phone ring tone down and stuffing it into your bag.

Back in the building you walk with as much confidence as you can muster back towards the proper room. The door is open now, the silence reminding you of the quiet just before all hell breaks loose.

Ok. You are going to go in there and wow them, even if they’ve already made up their minds. You’ll explain everything to Tom later - hopefully over many many drinks. 


	5. Chapter 5

Upon entering the room you are warmly greeted by the casting director, a man who reminds you of your theater teacher from college. He introduces you in turn to the individuals sitting alongside him – almost in order of the chain of command, working from himself up to the man you recognize moments before the casting director says his name – the director of the project. After introductions you drop your bag to the floor beside the chair they’ve set out in front of them. Was that your phone buzzing? It was hard to place the origin of the sound over the shifting of all the people sitting before you and the added movement of the script and other odd things in your bag. Really you didn’t need to bring the script with you, but you had thought you would have had a moment to go over your notes to yourself… but that was before you eavesdropped on the conversation that now squeezes your heart a bit too tightly. You start to lean over to adjust the way the bag is sitting and maybe pull the pages out but stop the action when the casting director addresses you:

“Before we get started - ______, welcome back. You were absolutely lovely in your audition and I wanted you to know that. We loved the interpretation of Emily that you brought to the table then.”

 _Were_ absolutely lovely. _Loved_. Past tense. As in we don’t love your interpretation anymore because someone did something better, but thanks for playing. You keep your breathing calm and level by dropping yourself out of the moment as much as you can.

“We think we’ve found--” he glances askance before amending the words, “we have cast our Jack and are hoping that we might have the right fit with you playing against him.”

That – was not what you were expecting him to say. You blink to let the words sink in for a moment before smiling. “I – thank you! – I’d love to give it a go.”

“Excellent.” He beams down the line at the other faces, most of which are smiling -- but you notice the production manager, or were they introduced as the production coordinator, doesn’t seem to be so very interested in the conversation. “We’re actually going to have to wait a few minutes for his arrival so let’s just run through a few lines and then we’ll see where we’re at.” You nod before squaring yourself in your chair and letting your careful construct of Emily take control.

Half an hour later you’re up and pacing, you’ve just finished a particularly tense bit of dialogue with all... but again, just the one… seeming to enjoy themselves as they follow along on the pages they have before them. At least for the most part they are again liking what you are showing them. You’ve amended small bits of your reactions as a result of your discussions with Tom regarding certain moments. Thankfully a break is called so you can scoop up one of the bottles of water they’ve kindly provided. You choose not to reseat yourself right away, the energy you’ve called upon for the scene making you a bit restless now that you don’t have a way to expel it. Pacing doesn’t seem to be doing the trick so you let Emily slip back into the corner where you’ve nestled her away in your mind. 

With a glance down at the far end of the table the casting director then checks his watch, “We’ll just call down to the lobby and see if he’s made it yet… We did agree to the 10:30-10:45 time range.”

While he makes his phone call you perch on the edge of your chair to scoop up the script from your bag and flip through the pages to review some of your notes. _Remember how tenuous the relationship is by this time._ Or _Would she allow Jack to see how horribly he’s injured her here or would she strive for impassiveness?_ In searching out a particular phrase you wanted to highlight you notice writing on pages you don’t remember commenting on. A closer look brings a tender smile – Tom has written you notes as to his feelings on the scenes, or – you flip through another couple of pages – in agreement with your assessment. Bless him. You trace a fingertip over his handwriting, figuring he had written it while waiting for you to finish getting ready for your night out.

“Oh – excellent! And you already sent him up? Good!” The casting director claps his hands together with such explosive force it jolts you out of your thoughts. “Emily – I mean – ha, sorry _____...” he laughs at his slip as he points towards the doorway, “we are delighted to say that –”

Well. That makes twice in less than an hour that you’ve been surprised (and then delighted) by the turn of events – Benedict nods acknowledgement to you. 

You realize the casting director is still talking, “… and Ben’s schedule being as busy as it is we weren’t sure if we would be able to land him for the role, but by the time we get production under-weigh things shouldn’t be problematic. We’ll try to get through this quickly…” 

Your casting director is talking more to the people alongside him than you right now but you still nod in reply. You take note of the expressions of those in charge – the director looks particularly pleased with himself, but again the production manager/ coordinator – really you were going to have to clarify that eventually – doesn’t appear all that interested in the events unfolding. Actually, as you analyze her expression, you realize that if she had been merely disinterested in you she seems to be seething right now. Wow, really not doing a very good job of hiding her opinions at the moment…. Obviously it was her protestations that you overheard earlier.

Benedict has finished shaking hands with those in charge and scoops you now into a gentle hug. “Surprise…” He murmurs into your ear just before releasing you again.

How long had Benedict been interested in the role? You think back through the odd few texts the pair of you have exchanged since meeting the night of the awards show and you realize that you never mentioned this particular project while talking with him. Apparently this is just one of those wild coincidences. 

How long will your luck hold out concerning your career? You are reminded of your audition for Touring Sundays when you walked into the room and saw Matt Smith sitting there waiting for you. How did you overcome your nerves then? Right – push your own feelings aside and concentrate on the character… You drop your script back into your chair and take a quick sip of your water bottle to listen as the casting director gives brief instructions as to what he’d like to see from the pair of you.

By eleven all involved seem to be on the same page regarding the casting of Benedict as Jack and you in the role of Emily – even, to your pleasure, the production manager. You don’t envy them the task of seeing the remaining individuals today… that exchange must be a tough one. Benedict nods gratefully when they acknowledge that he needs to get back to filming for the project he is currently working on. He waits for you to grab your bag and walks with you back towards the outside world.

“I’d be happy to drop you somewhere on my way back to the studio?”

You shake your head while thanking him. “That’s ok. I need to walk around a bit.” You feel your phone vibrating into your side through the fabric of your bag. “Ah – and I have a few phone calls to make. Long story…”

The pair of you pause in the lobby to say goodbye. Benedict gives your arm a brief squeeze. “Which there will be plenty of time to hear. I’ll see you again soon.”

In the hour that you’ve been in the callback your phone has gone nuts. You send off a quick text to Mark letting him know of the developments, neglecting to tell him about your panic attack before the audition though he’ll surely hear about it somehow. There are both texts and voicemails from Tom. You read through the texts first: 

_Your message cut off, is everything ok?_

Everything is now. 

The next: 

_Mark said he wasn’t aware that you’d even gotten there. You did go in didn’t you?_

Oh damn, you forgot to tell Mark you had gotten there you were so distracted. Well he knows now… 

_Forget whatever you heard. You show them the passionate way you feel about Jack & Emily. They will have no choice but to be swayed._

Oh dear you’ve apparently really distracted him from his work. 

_Darling answer your phone. Please!_

You stop scrolling through the messages. You imagine his voicemails will be more of the same. You quickly dial Tom’s number. He answers on the first ring. Before he can say a word you rush out as much information as you can manage.

“Tom I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I did go – I’m sorry to have worried you. I got the part, Tom!” You can hear him breathe out in reaction to your news. “I can’t believe you called Mark. I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

This results in a chuckle, “No you’re not in trouble though I wouldn’t mind putting eyes on you right now, just for good measure.”

You close your eyes to fight back the tears that are forming. You want nothing more than to be standing with him having this conversation rather than having it over the phone. “Hmm I probably owe everyone on your set apology cakes or something.” Another laugh comes over the line. How you love making him do that. “I very much doubt they’d let me just waltz in with a plate of cookies though…. Who all did you call anyway?”

Tom considers for a moment and you can hear him being summoned in the background which he is apparently ignoring because they repeat themselves louder. He responds to them with a bit of hesitation. “Yes, I’m on my way.”

“Tom, I know this is going to be a long day for you but…” You plan on asking him to call you or at least express your desire to see him.

“Yes.”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter. Yes.”

You try to think of something outrageous but settle for the delight you feel knowing that you’ll be able wrap your arms around him in a matter of hours. “Okay then.” You can hear him being called more insistently and smile. “I’m really going to have to send over dozens of apology baskets. I’ll call Mark to get right on that. You said tentatively you thought you’d be done by 8 tonight right?” Tom confirms the timeframe and you add, “Ok – I’ll be there when you’re done. Call me if that changes. Now go before they irrevocably hate me.”

You take a taxi over to Mark’s office after calling to both apologize for any undue stress – ok all the undue stress – and to request that he send over a massive basket of delicious things to the studio where Tom is working. He laughs, “You want it to say what?”

“Trust me, it is justified. Please Mark??” You note the taxi driver is doing his best not to laugh. 


	6. Chapter 6

You wait while Mark finishes up a phone call for another of his clients. When he hangs up he smiles at you, “Ok the apology basket has been sent over, mind telling me why you felt it was such a dire need?”

You shake your head in response. “Guilt, mainly. I was a bit of a wreck after eavesdropping. I ended up accidentally ending the message I was leaving for Tom right after an abrupt string of curse words.”

Mark knows all too well just how well versed you are in cursing. He has tried very hard to break you of the habit, or at least be aware of it while being recorded. You’ve really done quite well, all things considered. He eyes you disapprovingly all the same, “I suppose I can forgive you then for forgetting to tell me you’d gotten there alright." Mark motions to the stack of pages stacked up in the chair across from his desk. “Those are for you. I have a bag around here somewhere if you don’t think they can fit in yours.”

“Fanmail?”

He nods, “Yep.” You are able to fit the mail neatly beside your pages from _Jack & Emily_, which is what you've decided to call the movie until someone tells you otherwise, after you remove the water bottle and do a small bit of rearranging.

You point to the stack that sits off in the corner that Mark has almost hidden. You can see that the one on top is addressed to you just as the ones that you now have safely tucked away in your bag. “What about those? Might as well take as many as I can off your hands.”

Mark shakes his head sharply at you. “No – those stay with me for now.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation. You are standing closer to that stack than he is and the desk is between the pair of you so he can’t block your path to the stack. He frowns when you pick up the top letter and start to read, holding his hand out for you to give him the letter back. “______….”

You feel your cheeks burning as you quickly read the words scrawled out to you. Apparently you are not meant to be linked to any of the lovely Brits you’ve come to know recently, most specifically Tom. “Oh --”

“Look, some people just…” he is speaking softly now, still holding his hand out for the letter.

“That’s quite a lot of hate there.” Up and out of his chair, he takes the paper gently from your grasp and replaces it on the stack that you eye with concern. “Are all of those like that?”

Mark turns back to you and grasps you by your shoulders, “Forget those. You can’t please everybody all the time. Let’s focus on the fact that you landed Emily and,” he is doing his best to steer you as far away from those letters as he can. “Can you promise me an alert for the next time you plan to worry Tom like that?”

You shrug, doing your best to let him take your mind off what you just read. “You could have just told him I was going to get the part. Didn’t you know already? Wasn’t that what you wanted to talk to me about?” You remember the strangely worded text that Mark had sent you.

“No, actually that notification arrived after you’d texted me.” Comfortably assured that you don’t plan on diving towards the stack – an entire _stack_ – of hate mail, Mark leans against the edge of his desk while he talks to you. “To redouble the happy news for the day, I’ve gotten confirmation from the studio that they want to do a sequel to Touring Sundays and, in so many words, refuse to have your character appear unless you are willing to participate.”

When you squeak and jump towards him he swiftly places his hand back on the papers on his desk before bracing himself for your inbound hug. “OhmygodMark!!!” You step back again and start to pace. “Wait what about Matt? And Andrew? Oh no and what does that mean for…”

Mark holds up his hand to stop you. “They’ve just confirmed that they want to pursue a sequel. There’s a lot that needs to be worked out before you need to start worrying about anything other than being Emily. And for other good news, I’ve been looking into those rentals that you sent to me. I think we have them sorted down to two good options for you – just let me know when you want to go back just to double check that they are a good fit and we can get all the paperwork signed.”

“Wherever would I be without you Mark?”

He waves you off before you can get too sentimental, “Here, just with a different person helping you along the way.”

Mark’s phone starts ringing and he glances at it before looking back to you. You smile and pat your bag, “I’ll be heading back to the hotel. Thank you for being my one man action plan. I really don’t know how you juggle everything so well.” He nods gratefully before scooping up the phone.

You are almost back to the hotel when a text arrives from Tom.

_Gift basket arrived to the surprise and delight of the cast and crew. I half thought you were joking about that. They send their thanks._

You grin, happy that your gesture was well received.

Another follows:

_End of day time still looks right. How does dinner at my place sound? Will you already have eaten?_

Nice. Quiet. Just what you want after the odd day you’ve had today. You respond:

_Divine. I’ll wait. What should I bring?_

You’re pleased by the fact that there aren’t terribly many photographers waiting for your arrival back at the hotel. Once in the lobby you note Tom has responded.

_Just yourself. See you soon._

Rather than tempt yourself with shopping for things you really don’t feel that you need you opt to stay in the hotel and answer fan mail. After reading how vehemently a complete stranger opposes your connection with Tom it helps immensely to read the uplifting pages.

You estimate the travel time between your hotel and the location where Tom has been filming today and order a taxi for the transit. As you arrive the driver notices your expression upon seeing the number of people standing on the sidewalk, “Alright there?”

You nod, now realizing how you hadn't quite thought this through. The taxi would need to be going on to his next stop… and you weren’t filming at this studio, or even with the respective company that owned it. Security would probably just think you another fan wanting to get a glimpse of Tom. You release a sigh and set your mouth in a determined line. You’d just wait off to the side and hope the crowd would be too occupied trying to see Tom exit the building. “Good. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

The driver turns now to smile at you rather than look at you through the rearview mirror. “______, my girls love you. I guess you’re here to see Tom?”

He hadn’t made conversation the entire ride over so it hadn’t dawned on you that he knew who you were. You adjust your hat a little. “I – yes. What are their names?” You pull a pen out of your bag and wait as he scrambles in the front seat to hand you something to sign.

“If you want,” he looks away from you to the security gate, “I can see if they’ll let me drop you inside?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t, we didn’t, really plan this out. I don’t know…But thanks for the offer.” You hand him back the paper along with the fare, which you now realize has been showing on the screen in front of your knees. He looks hesitant to let you out of the cab but doesn’t protest as you slide out of the seat onto the sidewalk. You wave to him in thanks and watch the taxi roll away from the curb.

Ok, now what. You again play with the notion of walking over to introduce yourself to security. You tap out a quick message to Tom.

_Just arrived. A bit early. Oops._

You are adjusting your cap and about to walk up the sidewalk towards the studio when you hear a whoop. Someone shouts your name excitedly and you, without really thinking, look for the source. Now more faces are turning to see what the excitement is, and you note security is following the gaze of the few that were shouting your name. Well, this is one way to start the night. A guard reaches you after you’ve signed a few photos that had been thrust into your hands. Though patient to allow you to greet the first few individuals that had met you, the guard doesn’t let you linger long.

Someone from the crew is waiting to take you to Tom’s dressing room. “He’s just cleaning up. Thanks for the goodies, by the way.” She knocks lightly on the door marked Hiddleston and you hear a muffled response. She motions for you to go on in with a wave of her hand before walking back down the hallway.

You can smell the soap he’s just used to wash, and note he is quickly pulling a shirt over his head to be presentable for whomever is coming to talk to him. Dear Lord the man has more muscle definition than you thought imaginable. His hair is now mussed from pulling on his shirt. You grin and stand in the doorway, waiting for him to see that it is you.

All he has to do is smile to propel you across the small space and into his arms. “How was the rest of your day?” With your ear to his chest his words reverberate around in your head.

You reply without moving, “Fine. Better. Good. Benedict is going to be in _Jack & Emily_ with me!”

Tom uses one hand to flip your hat off your head that you ah, had forgotten that you were wearing. He kisses the top of your head before speaking again. “He sent me a text just after I had rung off with you. They evidently wrote the part with him in mind but then found him unavailable, until recently.” He grins as you step away from him with the intent of letting him finish getting ready to leave the building. He doesn’t let you get far, keeping one arm around your waist and pulling you back against him. “And here I thought I’d been the clever one, finding my way around those walls you’d constructed.” You stand on tiptoe to kiss him. Your fingers find that his curly hair has nearly dried. “I’m glad you came inside. This is a much better hello.”

You laugh and murmur a hello into his lips. This does remind you of the crowd waiting outside though. You press your hands lightly to his chest and lean back in his arms to look at him while you speak. “The taxi dropped me off and well, I got to say hello to some of your fans before a guard came to get me.”

“I asked the guards to be on the lookout. You could have gotten the driver to go up to the gate, though I'm sure the fans enjoyed seeing you. Hopefully they are our fans and not just my fans... ”

Knocking at the door frame precedes the rapid-fire stream of words altering you to company. The man that walks through the open door pauses a few paces and several sentences in. “Tom! You, my friend, never cease to amaze. We of course have – oh. Sorry the door was open and I figured I’d steal a moment.”

Tom releases your waist allowing you to settle back into a standing position next to him, much to the relief of your arches. Clearly you are going to have to practice standing on the balls of your feet. Tom introduces you to Peter, another actor on the project, and Peter gives Tom a wink before shaking your hand, then pulling it to his lips to peck it as Tom had done the night of the awards show.

“So – this is the lovely _______ that we’ve heard so much about.” Peter switches commenting from Tom to you. “I’ve never seen him so transfixed, unless it has something to do with Shakespeare. You haven’t been reading him any sonnets have you?”

You’re starting to blush though Peter doesn't give you the time to respond to the question past shaking your head.

“I’ll leave the pair of you to it…” He accompanies the comment with a wriggle of his eyebrows which makes you blush more. He calls out behind him as he clears the doorway, “Practicing sparring tomorrow buddy!” 

“Whew. After that - I feel like I’m moving in slow motion. He rivals you for boundless energy!” You say, motioning after the human whirlwind that just departed.

“Do I make you feel like you’re in slow motion?” Tom asks waving your hat at you that he still holds in one hand.

You nod and move to reclaim said item. “Sometimes...” He grins and puts your hat on his head which, unless he starts cooperating, effectively removes it from your reach. You study him a moment with your hands on your hips before shrugging. “Well, the theater will surely love the endorsement.” 

Tom takes a brief survey of the dressing room before nodding, which you take to be a signal that he is ready to leave. In the hallway you take a few steps towards the direction of the studio exit and pause to wait until Tom is at your side. His hand finds yours as you walk, "I meant what I said before Peter arrived, _______." 

Nodding, you squeeze his hand lightly, "I know, but if I had gotten the taxi to go through the gates I wouldn't have been able to..." Tom pulls you up short, laughingly wrapping his arms around your waist and shaking his head. You smile, though the cutting words of the letter you found in Mark's office still blaze in your head. "Tom we can't expect everyone to be happy that we're dating." 

"I can and I will." Playfully defiant, Tom mutters the words into your ear before landing a light kiss just below it. He straightens and takes you by the hand again to resume your progress towards the fans, the waiting car, and home. "For my money, the world can think what they want, but the only woman whose feelings on the subject truly matter to me will be dining with me tonight." 

You're tempted to once again provide a smart retort - remind him of his family or yours - but opt, instead, to swoon. 


	7. Chapter 7

When Tom promised you dinner at home you had half expected him to have something delivered… he'd had an early call time that morning after all. Why hadn’t you considered that Tom wanted to cook for you? He had tried to plant you in a chair at the table while he worked but you wandered to find a better spot to watch him move about the kitchen.

You've ended up settling just off to his left where the L shaped counter provides a corner for you to stay tucked out of the way. Incidentally this spot also gives you the best view when he turns to the stove… Sure, you’re setting yourself up for some sort of trouble but honestly your body has been humming ever since your interrupted greeting in his dressing room.

Watching Tom cook is incredibly, wonderfully, _distracting_. Scratch that, watching him breathe is distracting, everything else just compounds the problem. While preparing the meal Tom entertains you with stories about his day, waving whatever utensil happens to be in hand as though it were a weapon. You eye him wielding the knife while he dices the vegetables and talks about the next few days of work.

“Though we are all well trained in swordplay we won’t be fighting with weapons – at least, not yet.”

You had always found it easier to learn without the distractions of props or costumes, but then some people complained that the added weight was a distraction later. “I’d imagine that would make it easier to learn the footwork? Or were you just looking forward to swatting at your costars?” You move close to him and reach out to provide emphasis to the comment by running your hand over one of his shoulder blades and down following the muscle definition.

He stills under your touch and then looks sideways at you over his shoulder. “Darling it isn’t called swatting when you do it with a sword in hand.”

“Hmm oh of course not.” He stoops slightly as you stretch to kiss him on the cheek, reading your movements with ease and making it easier for you to hit your target. You have to remind yourself that the man is trying to cook, a much easier task when not dealing with distractions.

You have observed him retrieve things enough that you feel confident that you could get the flatware out to set the table. Your first attempt rewards you with the drawer of utensils. You hum as you gather what you hope are the needed wares.

“What are you doing?”

You stop humming to respond. “Setting the table? Helping - I hope. Trying to stay out of the way. I miss having a kitchen – that will change soon I hope.”

“Oh? Plates are just over there.”

“Remind me and I’ll show you the pictures of the places on my phone. Mark says I just need to sign the papers for whichever place I choose. Although…”

Later. You’ll have that conversation later – after dinner, after a good night’s sleep, after they reinstate Pluto as a planet… You really don’t want to start this conversation but you opened the door, might as well walk through it.

“Mark said that they’ve decided on doing a sequel to Touring Sundays.” It comes out in a quick, nearly unintelligible stream of words.

Very good. Nice panicked transition to the conversation.

Tom has stopped what he was doing to turn to you. “That’s wonderful! Though I thought you would be dancing with excitement?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you scowl to yourself. Well done you for bringing up the topic that you wanted to avoid.

“I _am_ excited…” you can’t suppress the smile that surfaces when Tom tilts his head down to give you a doubtful look, though your smile quickly fades again. Not entirely wanting to voice your thoughts, you lock your fingers together before unclasping them again. Why do you insist on making things awkward? You emit a small shrug, “Well, Jack  & Emily will be filming here. Touring Sundays filmed in so many different locations. I can't imagine that being different for the sequel. Does it make sense to stop living out of a bag? I can’t help but wonder now … Oh… Ok… ok, I can’t organize my thoughts. Sorry. Sorry…. The success of Touring Sundays – the award - which is still so astounding I’m half expecting them to call me up and ask for it back. The most I ever hoped for was a nod of recognition, maybe a ‘put in a few more years kid’, but never what actually happened.”

You’re rushing through all the thoughts that are fighting to the surface. Tom is soaking up every word that spills out, patiently letting you stumble through it, bless him.

Tom. Tom standing there before you. It is easier to focus on him alone. “Meeting you that night - I figured I’d just introduce myself as one of your fans and be done with it… swoon from afar.” This elicits a chuckle from Tom and you’re this close to telling him how deeply you’ve fallen for him but manage to contain the words. Now is not the moment, not in the middle of one of your more awkward spells. He was right, back in his dressing room. The man had found his way inside your defenses.

Your willpower to keep your language clean is slipping so you wince when a word slips out. “Fuck…. Erg, ok.… This, us. I - logically… Next month, for example…”

Tom picks up the thread midsentence, much to your relief. “You are adorable when you’re flustered. Two weeks from now you’ll be gearing up for your role as Emily. After that - you’ll have your work, and your costars, you won’t even notice that I’m home for a while. Remember, Benedict changed his schedule so he could be in the film with you. He’ll be more than happy to keep you company.” 

Is that jealously dear Mr. Hiddleston? You finally let yourself fully smile again. The way you respond to a mere look from him? Not notice? Ha.

“Benedict may be a tall, gorgeous Brit but he isn’t _you_.” You realize Tom has just let you talk yourself back from your melancholy while also getting you to assure him of your feelings for him. Clever man.

“Ok - now that she smiles again – can we circle back to the announcement regarding the Touring Sundays sequel?”

Ah – you’d forgotten that Tom was a huge fan of the film. How on earth did you forget that? Oh right, your heart had been close to stopping, as that had been the night you met him. “Of course. Would you like me to tell you again as though I hadn’t just had a mini freak out here in your kitchen? You can ask Mark – there was an abundance of giddiness and dancing, but…” When he reaches into his pocket you stop the thought midsentence to question him, “What are you doing?”

“Placing a call.” He has his phone out and starts to dial.

“Thomas William Hiddleston please don’t scare Mark with a second phone call regarding me in such a short period of time.”

Distraction. Distraction. You need to distract him. What can get him to hang up the phone?

“Tom, the food.”

He pretends to ignore you as you step towards him, closing the space between the pair of you again. He may be pretending to ignore you but you note that his free hand is quick to slide around your waist when you're close enough. Remembering how he momentarily stilled when you touched him earlier you lightly touch at his waist before letting your hands wander up towards his shoulders. Tom clears his throat but determinedly keeps the phone to his ear. He is looking down at you now, eyebrows raised and clearly enjoying himself while the phone continues to ring.

“Phone. Down.” You wrap your arms around his neck. Pressed against him as you are you can feel his muscles move with each breath. Dear Lord you are distracting yourself more than you are him, and he knows it. You hear an answer finally on the other end of the line and stand on the balls of your feet to whisper into Tom’s free ear, “Thomas….”

Though he still maintains the phone call he is also egging you on – he is helping you to stay on tiptoe now by holding you tightly against his body one handed. He plants a quick kiss on your neck before speaking, “Hello again. Sorry to call back so soon…”

By now you’ve realized that getting him off the phone is no longer your main priority as your hormones have taken full control. You let your lips brush against his jaw before slowly moving your attention down towards his collar. He takes a step to propel the pair of you backward. “Yes.” Step. “Ah. Maybe. Back an hour.” Another step.

Back an hour? What? Your ears relay to your brain the conversation that is taking place. You pause your attentions as you bump back against the counter, allowing yourself to settle flat foot to the floor again. Tom rings off quickly, “Yes. Of course. Goodnight.” He holds his smile in reply to your questioning expression before putting his phone aside. “Don’t stop now that you've got my full attention.”

You pointedly look over at his phone and back. “Not Mark?”

“No--” He scoops you up and places you gently onto the counter before him, lifting your weight with apparent ease. “Not Mark. The car service I reserved to take you home tonight. I thought a little more time would be good. Though, if you’d like I could call Mark…”

You silence him by pulling him into a kiss. Once you release him again you shake your head. “Nope. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Leave Mark be and let’s get back to concentrating on that food that smells divine.” Anything but returning to the ever so awkward profession of emotions that you stumbled through.

“Dinner?”

Nodding your head over his shoulder towards the stove you reply, “Yes, din…” He stops your reply with another kiss. Sitting atop the counter you can’t exactly escape the man’s reach easily, not that you really want to at this point. But the already cooking food… You lean back to release your lips from his. You try for stern but end up emitting a rather breathless: “Thomas.”

“Saying my name like that doesn’t make me want to concentrate on the food.” He chuckles.        

Tom escorts you out to the waiting car under the gaze of what seems to you to be a million eyes. It was the middle of the night, surely everyone has better things to do than wait to see you leaving his place. He had insisted upon walking with you out to the street. Just before shutting the door behind you he leans into the backseat to kiss you again. You grace him with a lopsided smile when he stands and does his best to stifle a yawn. “I’ll let you know when I get back to my room if you aren’t asleep by then.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You note that rather than retreating back inside he waits to watch the car drive down the street with a few photographers following. 


	8. Chapter 8

You keep referring back to your calendar and then, when catching yourself in the act, huffing out of frustration. Tomorrow you will be back for second fittings for the Jack & Emily project, which they still had yet to give a working title – and if all goes well tomorrow, you’ll be back in on Friday for photos in costume.

Tom has already left for London with the rest of the cast and crew that you have grown to know through frequent set visits. Tom has been enlisting most of the actors he is working with to help him to send you short clips of funny moments on set, though such horseplay has died down in the past few days. Your favorites usually had Tom interacting with Peter whose humor had quickly endeared him to you. They always seemed to be having such fun, but you were glad to not be in their dizzying path. Your set visits had given you your fill of their combined antics, you’d settle for just Tom’s endless energy from now on, thank you very much.

You are concentrating on sending Tom a message on your phone while you are leaving in the morning for the studio and stumble over a paper that had been left in front of your door. Odd, as you get your news via your phone. Rather than taking the time to walk it into your room you stuff the paper into your bag. Maybe someone else in the crew would like to read the publication.

Before you are even fully admitted to the wardrobe room you can hear that Benedict is in today as well. He is standing with his back to you, his arms slightly splayed out to his sides as pins are used to adjust a suit to fit him more snugly. His shoulders are shaking with laughter, which is causing the two people trying to make adjustments to half-heartedly glare at him.

They picked a wonderful cut for him so why they are bothering with alterations you can’t imagine. August, the production’s wardrobe designer is nowhere to be seen but you know he is present. Alterations to one of his creations without his critical eye observing? Unthinkable! You nod greetings to the two tailors and sit down to wait to be told what to do.

Benedict does his best to keep his body still but turn his head far enough to see behind him. “Morning _______.”

You motion for him to turn back around so the suit jacket hangs correctly, receiving grateful expressions from both tailors. “Morning Benedict. Been here long?”

“Still on London time.”

Right. He had flown in for the awards, then went straight back to the job afterwards. London. Tom. You’ll call him after you are given your marching orders for the day. “Must be fun, arguing with your internal clock.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t tried to keep similar hours. Tom always worries about a good time to call.”

Having a conversation with the back of someone’s head is a little odd. “You talked to Tom?”

Benedict nods. “This morning. He says hullo. And call. And something about slow motion which I can only assume to be an inside joke?”

You are saved from having to explain what it means by August coming into the room with a bunch of papers in his hand. He stops when he sees you and scoffs playfully, “She sits and studies the stitching. Up, up. Let’s work on Emily’s wardrobe!”

The suit hangs on the rack, the man it was fitted to now gone from the room when you return with your own pieces that needed slight adjustments. Since there were so few changes needed you are released early. You don’t have anything else to do so you end up back at the hotel, trying to figure out how to occupy your time. August has assured you that everything will be ready for photos tomorrow. You can’t wait to see how everything looks once put together. Full makeup, costume, maybe a few props…

You miss Tom when you call to update him on the news. After leaving a brief message find yourself once again at the mercy of the clock. Considering you’ve lived pretty much out of your suitcase since arriving in town there isn’t all that much to do to pack for your move. Sifting items from drawers to your bags doesn’t take all that much time so you opt to clear the desktop of the little mementos and paperwork.

Most of the items are from places you visited while filming Touring Sundays but a few are things sent to you from fans. When you look at the clock again you sigh, only two hours have passed. You’ve already organized and then reorganized the constantly building stack of screenplays and appearance requests that Mark keeps handing you. Ever since the awards show, every time you thought that you had made headway he appeared with more. You finally had to lock them away in the room’s safe to keep yourself from trying to find a new way to order them.

The next morning you sit cross-legged in the hallway, your phone resting atop your now forgotten pages. You had been left to your own devices for the time being. Your coffee – only the second cup this morning thank you very much – has nearly cooled enough to drink without scalding the roof of your mouth. You had decided to use the time to continue to study the script, but had abandoned that venture when you see Tom’s call come through. You can’t help but smile as you greet him. “Good morning sir. I miss you.”

“I miss you as well. I didn’t call too early?”

You’ve been at the studio at least an hour now. “Already been in with wardrobe once this morning.”

“Have you seen much of Benedict today?”

You look around while replying, as though Tom will summon your costar. “Not today – I saw him briefly yesterday but only long enough to say hello. He always seems to know more about your day than I do…”

“My day? I got up this morning, watched a beautiful sunrise, and thought of you. You did film part of Touring Sundays here in London if I remember correctly. Did you get to sightsee at all?”

“No, not really. Matt did try but we ran out of time and had to move on to the next location.” You sigh into the phone. Great, now you were both missing Tom and wondering what Matt was doing with himself.

Tom sounds like he is pacing, moving around an enclosed space at least. “We’ll have to rectify that.” What time was it for him – ten? He had waited most of the morning to call.

“Yes. I would love that. How is the job?”

“Exciting. Frustrating. Keeping me busy. Do they have a villain for the Touring Sundays sequel yet? Or maybe a new love interest?”

You laugh into the phone, “You don’t have to be my costar to see me, Tom. There’s this thing called video chat…”

“There’s being able to see you and,” his voice lowers, “being able to see you.”

“Thomas William Hiddleston!” His laughter over the line both delights and saddens you. You know exactly what he means. You look around to see if anybody is close enough to overhear the conversation.

Your phone is alerting you to an incoming video chat request and you tap the screen to find Tom still laughing. “Had to check if you were blushing.” He grins merrily. Just seeing him while he speaks to you helps to boost your mood again. That settles it, you’re going to find a way to fly there and surprise him soon.

“Of course I’m blushing. I’m in public and you’re making me think about being tangled in your arms.” You’ve hunched down slightly while furtively speaking to the phone in your lap.

“They decided to make Emily a redhead I see.” Ah – you’d meant to take a picture to show him after they had dyed it this morning but you’d gotten distracted.

You finger through your gently curled locks to analyze the color once again. “Testing the brightness. They said we might go darker…”

“I vote to keep it like that. It looks great!”

 “I’ll tell them you approve.” Someone’s calling for you. Of course they’re now ready for you to come back in for photos. You glance away from the screen, and thereby Tom, and sigh. “I’ve got to go. But London. That’s a yes.”

Tom’s slight frown presses into view the two creases that run straight up between his eyebrows. How you wish you could smooth them out of view again. He doesn’t want to say goodbye either it seems. “Just a matter of finding time.”

“Yes…” You pick up your phone and untangle your crossed legs so you can stand. “I’ll call later?” You wait to see him nod before ending the call and pushing everything that had been in your lap into your bag. Oh, you’d also forgotten about the newspaper from yesterday morning. Oh well, it will continue to travel with you.

While playing dress up – yes you know that isn’t what you’re doing at the studio so bright and early this morning but that’s how you are determined to think of it – you’ve come to realize that while everyone is polite, no one really seems all that talkative with you.

By break at lunchtime you’ve had enough, “What? Do I look that awful as a ginger?” Your outburst sends most everyone scurrying.

August is the one to respond. “It’s not the hair – well, it wasn’t the hair. Yowza, Red.” He had pushed the hair stylist for the brightest red everyone would agree on and is happy to brag on it. “It’s nerves and trying to figure you out.”

Confusion now mixes with frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re intimidating, _______.”

“I’m really not.” You reach up to fuss with the messy bun you’ve thrown your hair up into, unsure what else to do and desperately needing to fidget.

“You are. We all know your background. You could talk shop with most of us but you don’t. It took me all morning the first day to get you to open up past general introductions.”

“August that’s unfair, you were taking measurements and told me to hold still.”

He laughs. “Hold still, not become mute.”  
  
“Besides, you guys don’t want to hear some nobody actor try to relate your work back to her theater days.” You try to wave him off.  

Evidently the walls have ears because you hear someone giggle, “The nobody actor that everybody wants to work with.”

How does your blush look against your now vibrant hair color? You make a face at August for starting this which makes him grin and call out to the others who are making their way back to their work, “Ok – so different conversation since she’s too guarded to talk shop. Suggestions?”

Yes let’s open up the forum shall we: the life and times of the woman about to strangle her costume designer. One of the assistants, damnit you can’t remember her name – starts with an S, maybe… is quick to pipe up, “Ooooh Tom! Tell us about Tom!” A flurry of questions and pleas of encouragement follow. “Yes tell us about Tom, please.” “What’s it like dating him?” “Does he know every line of Shakespeare?” “Oh that accent.”

Up until now nobody had really referenced the fact that you were dating Tom. Evidently it had been on everyone’s mind… “Er, so about Emily’s color scheme…” You are rewarded with a few laughs but everyone still seems to be waiting to see if you’ll share details about your relationship. After confirming that you were dating and fielding a few general questions both of you agreed to keep the details of your relationship as private as you could. The cast and crew here would eventually feel like family but until you trusted them more you’d stick to the basics. “I’m really fortunate to have him in my life. I um, I don’t know if he knows every line of Shakespeare but it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

You give August a look and he gives you a short nod of understanding before steering the conversation on to the next topic. “Talking about accents – when we went to pick up materials the girl cutting behind the counter had the most adorable Russian lilt…”


	9. Chapter 9

You are thrilled with the combined results of hair, makeup, and costumes. Emily is finally manifesting someplace other than on paper and in your head. You’ve signed the paperwork for renting a small place about an hour away from the studio so you are officially – at least temporarily – a resident of Los Angeles! The read through for Jack & Emily won’t happen for at least a week which gives you plenty of time to settle in to the new place and ferret out the best routes to and from the studio. Scrolling through your messages you see that Tom has sent you a series of pictures showing you the progression of his day. He looks tired in the last few and you sigh softly, “Don’t push yourself too hard, Tom…”

But wait, you have a week, at least a week… Screw getting your new place set up – there will be plenty of time to get it to feel like home. A quick search and you begin to scroll through possible flights to London. You can take advantage of the fact that the promotional period for Touring Sundays only just ended and you’ve grown accustomed to the wait to get through Customs.

You still have to run it by Mark - redirecting the taxi to the airport isn’t practical, you would at least need to grab your bag from your room – once again the benefits of living out of your suitcase make you smile. Maybe you can talk Benedict into being your inside man and finding out where Tom will be when you figure out when you’ll be flying in – to surprise Tom – oh! You’re liking the idea more and more.

You quickly tap out messages to both Mark and Benedict alerting them to your newly formed plans. Benedict seems game but you can feel Mark’s glare as you read the words of his response:

_We just went through all that paperwork for your keys to the new apartment and you’re talking about going out of the country. You’d better be positive on the time frame for Jack & Emily before you book your ticket. Spur of the moment trip – he hasn’t been gone that long – just, send me the details when you know them._

You make a face and talk back to the phone, which makes the taxi driver give you an odd look, “Judge me all you like Mark, I’m going to see him.”

You tap out a few more messages to the corresponding members of the production team and everything seems to work out nicely. Yes, there’s still a number of things that need to happen before a table read is a go. Looks like you’re in the clear for taking four or five days to go to London. You wait, your finger hovering over the link to confirm your plane ticket to fly out later tonight which would put you in London around 3pm their time – Tom has been incredibly busy with filming, is this really a good idea? There is the risk that you will fly there and he won’t have any free time to spend with you. If that is the case then you can tour yourself around London for a few days and try to see him when he is available…. Shit, now you’ve just about doubted your way out of your trip. No. No, you’ve already set in motion the required parts – follow through.

Now to make sure Tom doesn’t suspect anything…

_Signed the lease! Keys will be mine on Monday. So excited to have my own place again! Can’t wait to start decorating._

You really are very excited about getting to once again have rooms that more accurately reflect your personality. You are going to eventually work on decorating the new place, just after your surprise trip. Hopefully this is a clever misdirect.

You’ve already talked with the hotel regarding your move so you need to stop back by the reception desk to discuss the possibility of them holding your things until you get back from London. Hell, you really don’t have much that won’t just squish back into your luggage. Though you really don’t need to take fan mail, scripts, and odd assorted collectibles you've been given all the way to London. If they need the room back, maybe the hotel will hold the various items in storage for you?

The clerk at the counter seems hesitant at first but after being given the go-ahead from management, extends the date for your departure from the room until after you are back stateside. Everything is working out! Tom responds while you are in the elevator:

_Still say you should have just taken over the place I had been renting. Can’t wait to see pictures once you get settled. Wish I could be there to help._

He had tried many-times-over to convince you to talk with the realtors to see if you could lease the place he had been renting. You were stubborn on that point though, you wanted a place that was distinctly yours, not a place that would make you immediately think about how much you missed his presence.

There really isn’t much that you need to do to get ready for your flight. Your travel documents are always in your bag and since you were already preparing to move out of the hotel... After ensuring that you have a few days’ worth of clothes packed – no way are you lugging your entire wardrobe across the Atlantic – you check to make sure Benedict is upholding his end of the bargain.

_Looks like I’ll be arriving around 3 in the afternoon tomorrow (7ish for you here). I’ll keep you updated during the trip as to progress. Thank you again!!_

His response is almost immediate.

_Happy to help. Weather willing he will be working but I can recommend things to do until he is done with his day._

The ticket you purchase isn't for the first flight out, but instead gives you a few hours to get your things together before needing to head to the airport. If you had chosen one of the extremely early flights you probably would have had a better bet of flying out without getting caught by cameras, but that would mess up your arrival time. You don't want to have to consider an entire day wasted on travel. Maybe your dyed locks will help prevent you from being recognized? 

Eleven hour flights provide time to catch up on your sleep though so you’re not terribly worried about being exhausted upon arrival. You can’t find your bracelet or your favorite tube of lipstick, but in your excitement you’ve probably just forgotten where you packed them away. You pause to access your appearance in the bathroom mirror before catching a taxi to the airport: your red hair is thrown up into a rather wild bun, maybe you can tame that during the plane ride… you've elected to wear clothes a little more comfortable for travel rather than trying to dress to wow Tom. You gather that you’ll have time to change after arriving… Should you wear a hat? Sunglasses? You throw those into your carry on, just in case you decide to try to use them to hide. 

In the airport there are a few people who give you prolonged glances but merely smile back when you make eye contact. Apparently you look just enough like yourself to be merely a good decent look alike. As you are boarding you send both Mark and Benedict messages, as requested, to keep them updated. Once the plane takes off you are able to relax a bit though not enough to let you sleep. No matter, you’ll nap a bit eventually. You brought copies of the floor plan to your new place so you can start playing with ideas about the setup of the apartment.

You receive a text from Tom more than halfway through the flight. He had fallen into the routine of leaving you messages to wake up to. 

 _Good morning beautiful.Can't remember if you're working this morning or not. Hope the sunrise you are greeted with is as spectacular as mine was._  

Your response is true enough though you avoid the query regarding your work schedule. 

 _I'm awake._ _Entertaining myself with various ideas on color schemes for the new place. You? Busy day?_  

Your response sounds natural enough. You aren’t giving anything away…. Hopefully Benedict’s curiosity as to Tom’s schedule for the day doesn’t tip him off. 

_The usual fun. I’m here if you need a second opinion. I’ll call later? Maybe another video chat session?_

Video chat wouldn’t be needed soon enough. You shift in your seat to stretch a bit.

_Later sounds good. Can’t wait._

And be able to reach out and touch you… in – ugh, you shouldn’t have looked at the time… You close your eyes and try to relax. Sleep will make the hours seem to go by faster.

Tom’s next text wakes you and makes your heart leap:

_I have some down time, would now be a good time to call?_

It feels like you just fell asleep but glancing at the time informs you that you're nearly there. 

Yes. Shit. No. You’re on a plane. How the hell do you disguise the fact that you’re on a plane while on the phone? What if they make an announcement during the call? The surprise would be blown. You’d love to talk to him but …

_Er, not the best time. Too much background noise at the moment. Maybe in an hour?_

Yes, in an hour when your plane would be landing and you can duck into a quiet room to talk to him.

_I don’t mind background noise. You’ll have to listen to Peter er, singing, in the background to hear me as well._

Hmmm. How can you word this so that Tom doesn’t think you’re trying to avoid him?

_Your hesitation as to how to describe it makes me cautious… I think I’ll pass for now. What is Peter ‘singing’ anyway?_

There - keep him talking about his costar. 

But Tom isn’t easily swayed from his goals.

_Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon._ _But if you have a request I’ll pass it along. What if I promise to sing the entire conversation?_

And now you have Frank Sinatra singing stuck in your head. Damn. Why don’t the insides of planes look more generic? What if you went into the lavatory? No, then it would just look like you were in the damned lavatory of a plane.

 _Tempting. But I want to be able to enjoy such an encounter. Let me get someplace quiet, then you can serenade me to your heart’s content._  

You're teasing him now, but you can't help but add another few lines of text:

_No complaining if I make a thing out of texting you Sinatra lyrics. Already scrolling through my playlists looking for his music._

_No complaints. Scout's honor. Where is Ben? I asked him to help get you someplace quiet. Are you not at work right now?_

You grin. He is curious now. You haven't seen a text arrive from Benedict so Lord knows what he was saying to Tom regarding your current whereabouts. 

_Haven't run into Ben. Apparently we aren't in the same location right now._

Tom's response is slightly delayed which gives you time to plan out what you'll say if he keeps pushing with questions about where you are. Your planning is pointless though, when you read his message.  

_I'll_ _say! Sorry ________, but your secret is out. Just checked my feed to pester Ben there. Someone on your plane is fangirling that she is on the same flight. I know you’ll be landing soon. I’ll see you at the airport._

You will not run through Customs. You will not run through Customs. You will not run through Customs.


	10. Chapter 10

Damn technology. You almost, _almost_ managed to sneak to London to surprise Tom. Though you would have very much enjoyed seeing his reaction upon finding you waiting for him after finishing his day, this turn of events works just as well. He really should be on set so you make a mental note to remind him of that – after wrapping yourself up in his arms. You try to contain your fidgeting while waiting for the plane to taxi to the gate, and then again in the slow progression to disembark.

And again there’s Customs. You repeat the mantra you had taken up as soon as you’d read the text from Tom telling you he was going to meet you at the airport. You will not run through Customs. You will not run through Customs. God. What a photo op that would be. _Yank actress body slammed trying to bypass security._ Imagine Mark's face when he read that headline... oh he would be furious. He'd never let you travel alone again, that's for sure. 

You know you have a silly smile on your face when you finally get to the Customs counter, but you don’t care. Somewhere in this airport Tom is waiting for you.

The agent gives you a stern look after studying your passport. Your smile falters as you panic internally. Surely nothing is wrong with your paperwork. She speaks and finally an ever so slight smile cracks her stony expression, “You pair have caused a commotion out there.” She motions to the approaching security guard, “He’ll take you on from here.” Oh goodness. Your thank you comes out accompanied by a sigh of relief.

You hear the hum of the crowd long before you round the corner and emerge from through the closed doors to see the mass of people waiting beyond. Your eyes quickly find their target, locking onto the gorgeous man now dazzling you once again with a look of pure joy.

You’re having a flashback to the night of the awards show – tuning out everyone and everything around you – security, fellow travelers rushing onward, and bystanders alike. Unlike that night, this time you’re still in control of your limbs. You manage to shuck your bag between the moments in which you see him and when you’ve propelled yourself across the space between the two of you and into Tom’s waiting arms.

You mumble out one word before kissing him: “Surprise!” Your surroundings slowly come back into focus. When you settle back onto your feet you bite your lip, now sheepish at your display of affection in such a public space.

Tom keeps his arms held around you in a loose embrace. “It was quite the surprise. I think Peter caught my reaction on his phone if you’d like to see it later.”

You nod, then remember that your phone is in your bag that you abandoned in the floor behind you. You take a step away from Tom to turn and find the security guard holding your bag with an amused expression. “Erm, thank you. I do have another bag that we need to go claim, Tom.” You add the afterthought while you shoulder your bag again.

The two men exchange nods before the security team leads the way to baggage claim. Tom waits to take your hand in his before the pair of you follow close behind. You form quite the procession walking through the airport. “I can’t believe you just flew eleven hours to see me...” He says.

You stop as though to turn around, “Well I can always go right back, d’you think the plane is still there?” Tom doesn’t release your hand so you resume walking alongside him. “I have the time since the read through got delayed for a week… I would just be sitting there trying to find things to fill my schedule in the meantime. I know you’re working though so we can do dinners or something. Speaking of which, you should get back to set. I’ll find a place to stay that’s close by and…”

Tom cuts you off, “You don’t have a hotel yet?”

“Last minute trip. Just got off the plane. _Someone_ was supposed to be at work so I could get settled and changed before surprising him.”

He pulls your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “But I found you out.”

“Yes, you did. I should have enlisted Peter too – to help distract you until I arrived at least.” You give your head a quick, exasperated shake.

Tom cuts his eyes at you, raising an eyebrow with interest. “Too?”

“I asked Benedict to keep tabs on you. Which is why I know that since it isn’t raining out there, you, sir, should be at work.” You sidestep to bump your shoulder into him.

“I will go back to finish the day. But did you really expect me not to come to greet you?”

“Oh I’m thrilled that you did. Since my plan fell apart I may pout a bit later… when you’re not standing there. I think, perhaps, the airport might have appreciated a little notice though.” You take a moment to smile at the onlookers and security surrounding you now that you’ve made it to baggage claim.

Tom releases your hand to loop his arm around you and pull you close to him so your back ends up resting against his chest. He wraps his arm across your body and clasps his hand onto your shoulder. Rather than awkwardly try to loop your hands over his you hook your hands in the crook of his elbow. After a moment of both of you staring at the many other travelers also waiting for their bags you feel him rest his chin atop your head. When he mutters you can feel the motion of his words, bringing a smile to your lips. “Which bag are we looking for? The dark blue one?”

Right. Watching for your bag. “Yep. Hmm good memory. The black one is still back in L.A.” You don’t dare nod your head for fear of changing the stance the pair of you have taken up. The security guards have created a sort of bubble around you. The ebb and flow of sound as people carry on with their lives starts to lull you into a trance. How long have you been up now? The nap you had on the plane didn’t help all that much.  

Standing there watching for your luggage Tom speaks quietly, almost to himself. “You know… You could stay with me. If you wanted.”

You don’t immediately reply. Your brain and heart take up opposing stances – caution! says one, fuck caution! says the other - and are screaming at each other, full force. Your body’s vote, while duly noted by both parties, is cast aside for the time being. It’s been awhile – hence your body’s insistent YES. Not to mention that its Tom.

The whole point of flying here was to see Tom. Following that line, staying with him makes sense. Of course you had packed assuming you would be staying in a hotel nearby - cute clothes for adventures around town and the like, but your suggestive sleepwear sat tucked away in the bag back in L.A. You’re trying to remember what exactly you did pack.

Really though, staying with him doesn't necessarily mean that anything more would happen. Stateside, the evenings always ended with Tom either dropping you back at your hotel or sending you home by car. Attraction wasn't the issue... respecting boundaries? Confidence?

But how long have you been arguing point and counterpoint with yourself? Oh God – oh – say something. Say something! Say anything! Pineapple! Chair! Respond damn it. 


	11. Chapter 11

“Did you hear me? You ah - don’t have to stay with me – if you prefer to stay at a hotel…” Tom gives your shoulder a light squeeze when you don’t immediately reply. You return the squeeze to him via your grip on his arm.

Well, your hands respond to commands at least.

“Y-es.” Ok so your voice does work. And your brain and mouth did communicate a stuttered affirmative reply, but did he hear you? He’s squirming.

Tom releases your shoulder and shifts so he is no longer resting his chin on your head. He is talking faster now, apparently as flustered as you are by his muttered invitation. “I mean, I have a guest room.”

The pair of you have now taken a step apart. You turn to look up at him. Of course you’re going to stay with Tom. You adore this man, and well – he offered. “Shush. I said yes.”

Tom’s faltering quickly changes to delight. He plants a kiss at your hairline before looping his arm back over your shoulder. “Excellent. Now, let’s find that bag of yours.”

You nod, once again turning your attention back to the baggage area. You are first to spot your bag but Tom refuses to let you carry the thing. He makes a show of picking up your bag. “Did you pack books?”

It doesn’t really weigh all that much. You were able to carry it just fine even with the added burden of your shoulder bag. You’re really starting to notice how very tired you are but still manage to smile during your reply, “Nope, bricks.” While Tom is finishing out his day you plan on resting.

“Hmm, much needed items when traveling.” He snags your hand in his again. “I’ll drop you by my place. The rest of the day shouldn’t take too long. Everyone was talking about wanting to see you, too, at some point during your visit. I told them I’d consider sharing.” He is sizing you up as the pair of you walk with security out towards his car.

You nod slowly, “Sharing is good. I plan on planting myself somewhere comfortable for a few hours first.” After sitting for so long on the plane it is amazing that you’re craving being seated again.

He may have said he was going to just drop you off, but Tom takes his time showing you around his place. The fourth time he apologizes for ‘the mess’ you pinch his arm. Recalling the papers that had previously been strewn across your desk and the usual state of your hotel room Tom’s place is tidy – it just appears lived in.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing. I’m the one that is crashing.” You reach up to pull him gently to you and kiss him, letting your lips linger near his. “Now please, quit stalling. I promise I won’t disappear while you’re gone.”

He makes sure you have a cup of tea in your hands before he leaves. “If you get bored and can’t rest you’re welcome to look through my books in the study.”

You had thought he had been too busy showing you around to notice how you looked at the shelves. You merely nod in response. Tempting as it is, you weren’t kidding about planting yourself somewhere while you waited. Once Tom leaves you don’t even bother opening either of your bags that were placed in the guest room, opting instead to curl up on the sofa.

You don’t remember closing your eyes but you must have. You awaken to the sound of Tom’s arrival and soft greeting, “________?”

It takes you a second to remember where you are. You stretch as Tom pauses to flip a switch to illuminate the darkening room. He is watching you with interest while you are stretching. Oh boy – how long are these sleeping arrangements going to last? You distract yourself from your body’s reaction by scooping up the now empty mug to carry it into the kitchen. Tom watches you from the main room. “I guess you didn’t get the text telling you that I was done for the day.”

“Ha – no. My phone is still in my bag. All the energy I had was used up drinking the tea. After that I was dead to the world until you walked back in the door.”

“Are you up for seeing everyone tonight? They said they’d understand if we wanted to do something on our own but I promised I’d mention it.”

A short shake of your head accompanies your reply. “I'm not here to alter any plans you've already made, Tom. And I’m good, now. I would like to change though. If we’re going out I’d like to not smell like I’ve been on a plane all day.”

Tom follows you as far as the study before turning off. “I’ll be in here when you’re ready.”

The sleep certainly helped but the shower makes you feel normal again. You examine your reflection in the mirror. It’s actually a good thing that you can’t find some of your lipsticks as you are forced to use a lighter gloss. August was right to push for such a brilliant shade for your hair, it looks great against your skin tone.

You find Tom still in the study, hip deep in letters but something else has him occupied. Tom’s gaze is fixed on the computer monitor. “You’re frowning. Forget whatever you're looking at and find something happy.”

Tom nods before pulling his eyes away from the screen. The frown creases immediately disappear. “What I’m looking at makes me happy, it’s the stolen private moment and comments attached that make me frown.” He holds out his arm to wrap around your waist once you cross the room. You lean into him while you peer around at the screen to link an image to his words. A whole slew of pictures of the pair of you at the airport are pulled up on the screen. No comments are visible at the moment, just picture after picture of the exchange between the pair of you at the airport.

“Oooh I like that one, we look like we’re dancing.” You bend to point to one of the images on the monitor and feel Tom's hand slip from your waist down over the curve of your hip. If he does actually want to go out tonight his fingers need to stop edging along the rim of your jeans. 

 “I like your expression in this better.” The photo had been taken just as you had reached Tom after getting through Customs.

You stand again, moving to trace along his collar bone. You smile as you reply. “I think you just enjoyed the greeting.” His hand shifts from your hip to the center of your back and up along your spine. 

He nods, not even trying to refute the statement. “Very much. Enough of the photos though. Ready to go?” 

You nod. In more ways than one, dear Thomas. In more ways than one.

A half dozen or so of the cast and crew are gathered at the table in the corner of the restaurant when you and Tom walk in. It is pretty much the same small group that you had gotten to know back in LA. After allowing greetings to occur Peter pounces to show you the clip he had captured of Tom reacting to the news of your arrival. The start of the video is jumpy and you can hear Peter singing Fly Me to the Moon. “… _Fill my heart with song. Let me sing forever more. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore...”_

He’s actually doing a pretty good impression of Sinatra. You give him a thumbs up and gratefully accept the drink that Tom has already magically snagged for you. In the video Tom is waving him off while laughing, “ _Alright. Yes. I told her about the singing._ ”

Peter is talking still while you are watching the video. “You know if you had let us in on the surprise we would have helped keep it from him. Sometimes it takes a village...” Everyone nods in agreement while arranging themselves again at the table. 

"Yes that did occur to me, afterwards." You drop into the empty seat Peter guides you to so you can keep your eyes on the video. Tom pulls his chair closer to watch as well.

On screen Tom has tilted his head and is looking at his phone oddly. “ _She’s saying it’s too loud there but Ben said it was going to be a quiet day at the studio._ ” You know what’s coming as Tom had already explained how his curiosity interfered with your plans. Tom studies the screen to his phone before typing quickly all the while maintaining a muttered one sided conversation. “ _Benedict isn’t replying now. Maybe I can… hmm. Ok, that’s confusing…  That can’t be right. Maybe the timestamp is wrong. But then there are others... Oh._ ” You smile when Tom just about drops his phone and shouts. Peter jumps, thereby making the video bob and weave. “ _She’s on her way here! She’s on a plane! She’s…_ ” He messes with the phone a bit more before he checks his watch. “ _I can make it there to greet her if I leave soon… Surely they'll let me go get her if I promise to come back..._ ” The video is unsteady while Peter tries to pursue Tom through various hallways.

Tom is laughing at himself. “I’m afraid I startled our AD when I found her. I was fully prepared to beg and barter but all I had to do was ask to leave for a bit.”

Peter responds. “Pretty sure everyone on set heard your excitement – and honestly man, no one wants to say no to the man barreling at them with such an intense look on his face.” Peter waves his hand at the still playing video.

Just before the clip ends the room spins so that Peter is the one that is on screen. “ _… And there he goes – off to the airport... NO SPEEDING!_ ”

You hand Peter back his phone and glance at Tom. “You were there waiting for me. Apparently there was plenty of time.”

“For the record, I didn’t speed.”

“Of course not.” Peter responds pressing his hand to his chest briefly before then waving it down the table towards Tom. “You know it is a good thing you’re portraying a man besotted – I’d pay good money to see you bottle all that back down before every scene.” Tom is leading beads of condensation down the side of his glass and pauses for a fraction of a second. He resumes the motion quickly.

“________, perhaps now with your visit they’ll quit pushing the Battle of the Brits.” One of the makeup artists speaks up in the lull in the conversation.

You remove your hand from Tom’s knee, slightly startled. “What?” No wonder he was always asking if you’d seen Benedict. How heavily was this circulating over here? Tom hadn’t mentioned it… You try to recover and hide the sudden jolt so you reach to claim your drink and snag something crunchy to eat from the center of the table.

Peter is shaking his head and trying to talk over her but you shush him so she can speak. “I uh – well since casting was confirmed before we left. You opposite Benedict. And with Tom now being here. Well…”

“Look we _all_ know better than to believe things like that.” Peter sounds a bit strained.

She’s now trying to backpedal. “It just came out wrong. I was trying to be supportive. It sounded better in my head.”

Tom still has a pleasant expression on his face though you can see that the smile doesn’t fully reach his eyes. He shifts in his seat and rests his arm on the back of your chair but doesn’t move to touch your shoulder.

Hmm this subject touches home a bit for him. You bite your lip and frown. “Benedict is a lovely man and I can’t wait to work with him. But I adore Tom. I guess they’re entitled to print what they want even if it doesn’t make much sense.”

You risk a glance to find Tom relaxed again. You raise an eyebrow at him. Surely he knew that Benedict wasn’t a threat to your relationship.

Peter starts to laugh, “Ok. Now that the awkward conversation has taken place…” After that the conversation veers back to their production and what is to come in the next few days of work.

The group disbands fairly early in the evening since everyone will be on set the next day, including Tom. He apologizes repeatedly on the way home for the early end to the night. He stops in the hallway in front of the guest bedroom which makes you pause halfway between him and your bag. “Tom? Did you forget something at the restaurant?”

While he replies you make your way back to him. He gives you a short shake of his head, “No. You’re here.” He studies your reaction while you approach him. “I hope you had fun tonight. Sorry again that the Battle of the Brits article was brought up. I know how tiresome that type of thing got during Touring Sundays.”

You smile at him and lean against the doorway. “Stop apologizing. I had fun. I’m delighted that Peter caught you on his phone so I could see your reaction. And thank you again for letting me use your guest room.”

You want to continue and say something along the lines of: Screw the use of the guest bedroom. You hold your tongue. After the discussion of the Battle of the Brits article, you don’t want Tom thinking you’re trying to prove something to him, or to yourself.

Your heart beats a bit quicker when Tom steps to you and bends to kiss you. When he pulls away your lips are still tingling. Damn that man can get a reaction from you. He gives you a lopsided grin before continuing down the hallway towards the master bedroom. “Goodnight, ________.” 


	12. Chapter 12

You wake up to a steady chirping noise – a steady  _loud_ chirping noise. Even through the closed door – and now a pillow over your head – you can hear the insistent alert. You groan. You were having such a lovely dream.

After several cycles it is clear to you that the noise isn’t going to stop. You flip the pillow off your head groggily. Dear Lord what time is it? You check your phone so see it is a little past two in the morning. Is that Tom’s alarm already? Surely he isn’t sleeping through that irritating noise. You pull yourself out of bed and stumble to the door to investigate. You call out as you walk into the hallway. “Tom?”

Tom opens his door a moment later, still adjusting his clothes. Sweatpants? Interesting choice. Judging by his curious expression the source of the noise is not his alarm. “_______?”

The steady chirp-beat-chirp-beat-chirp pattern sounds louder now while you are standing out in the hallway. There is a delay and the chirping patterns starts again. You hug your arms at your waist, trying not to sound as tired as you feel. “What is that noise? Is that your alarm?”

“No…” Tom tilts his head during the next delay and then breaks into laughter when he sources the noise. “Oh hell. It’s the smoke detector. Must be the batteries.”

“…You’re kidding me.”

While he is turned to look up at the ceiling you note that his shirt is on inside out. A hastily thrown on article of clothing? Why again were you sleeping in the guest room? He spins and is off down the hallway to the kitchen. “Hang on. I think I’ve got some batteries somewhere.”

The smoke detector is still merrily chirping away. It’s always the middle of the night when such things happen. You’re in a full blown giggle fit when he returns, batteries in hand and a chair in tow.

“The joys of owning your own place. No front desk to call for such things.” You move to hold the chair steady while Tom installs the batteries. He reaches up to tend to the device and his shirt pulls up revealing some of his well-defined torso. Your fingers immediately send a request to your brain expressing their desire: _Must touch!_ To maintain control you grip the chair a little more firmly than needed until Tom once again stands on the floor beside you. With the batteries changed the both of you stand in wait, watching the device to make sure it doesn’t sound off again.

That’s when the next unit down the hall starts to chirp, sending you into a fresh wave of laughter. Tom holds out his hand, holding the extra batteries out to you. “Your turn.”

Still laughing, you palm the batteries from him and slide the chair down underneath the next unit. “Please tell me there aren’t any more of these things. Unless you have more batteries somewhere?” Tom hasn’t dropped his hand and it dawns on you that he’s waiting to help you step up onto the seat of the chair. Standing in the chair you consider the detector a moment. You hadn’t been watching when he had pulled the other one down from the ceiling. You bite your lip and take a random guess that it unscrews from a mounted base.

You can hear Tom laugh quietly over the chirps. “I’ve never seen someone concentrate so hard while changing batteries in a smoke detector.”

“I wasn’t watching to see how you did it.” You admit sheepishly. The unit finally clicks loose and you are able to pop out the old batteries. Oh sweet silence.

“Oh?”

You pause after pushing one of the new batteries into place to look down at him. He has taken up a stance just off and behind your right shoulder. “Yes. I got distracted – oh hush.” Ignoring his merriment, you press the second battery in next to the first and you stretch to twist the detector back into place. “This is really your area you know. Short people don’t normally mess with things on the ceiling. Particularly not in the middle of the night.” You fiddle with the old batteries in your hands while you wait, anticipating another alarm sounding off but nothing happens.

“Figured you’d want to participate since it did rouse you from bed. Anyway - you’re doing just fine.”

His voice dips slightly with the word fine which sends a shiver down your spine. “Well I do know how to install batteries.” … I know how to install batteries? Good job on screening thoughts before they tumble from your mouth.

Tom holds out his arms to help you off the chair. His hands slide up from your waist to grip just below your arms as you step down. Once you’ve settled onto the floor he waits a beat before releasing you.

Apparently the pair of you are going to see who drives the other crazy first. Even considering your stubbornness you’re a lingering gaze away from cracking your resolve.

Tom scoops up the kitchen chair and takes the old batteries from you to dispose of them. You start to go back to the guest room and then pause. He is lost in thought when he reappears from the kitchen, one had running through the hair on the back of his head. When he notices you still standing in the hallway he smiles. “We should be good now – it’s safe to go back to bed.”

You nod and let him pass you by with a softly repeated goodnight. You stop in the doorway to the guest room. Oh come on, out with it. This is ridiculous. You take a breath. “Tom?” You wait until he turns and makes eye contact before continuing. “Are we really going to sleep like this until I go back to LA?” You wave both your hands towards the opposing rooms.

“Are we? If that’s what you want. It’s completely up to you.” Tom slowly walks back towards you while he speaks as though you’d startle and run.

Him. You want him.

“Well then –” You exhale and smile up at him now that he is within arm’s reach. You hook your hands behind Tom’s neck and pull him into a kiss. Lip locked, you take a step back to draw him with you backwards into the guest bedroom. Thank goodness your bag is off towards the sidewall. Now is not the time to stumble over things.

“I’ve got you.” He chuckles when you emit a squeak upon backing into the bed. You’d lost track of your progress into the room. After following you into the bed he peels you out of your yoga pants while his lips migrate their attentions down towards your collar.

Your hands have once again find their way behind his neck and you finger the tag that hangs from his collar. Hmm. Too many pieces of clothing are still in play. “Your shirt is on inside out, by the way.”

Tom pauses sucking at your neck to sit back and pull the collar of his shirt away from his body slightly to examine it. “Is it? Um, well – easily solved.” He snatches the back of his shirt just over his shoulder and pulls it off over his head. He starts to turn the shirt right side out and push his arms back through.

Ever the comedian.

When you take it from him to toss it aside you mutter, “Don’t you dare…”


	13. Chapter 13

Your brain is in sensory overload. Never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined that Tom Hiddleston would have you pinned to the bed, his lips and hands exploring your body. Ok, scratch that, this is _exactly_ what you imagined in your wildest dreams. But those had been just fantasies. You never thought that you’d ever end up coming to know the man, let alone end up _beneath_ him.

After getting you out of your yoga pants so quickly he had taken his sweet time removing your tank top and finally your underwear. Thus far you’ve been careful not to leave any love bites but if he continues to nip at your skin you’ll be happy to give him the same treatment – let _him_ worry about explaining it on set. Tom has worked his way back up to your collar bone. He apparently really enjoys the sounds you make when his lips massage the areas around your neck. Dear Lord Tom, you’re prolonging this to the point it is borderline torture.

Tom stops in the middle of kissing you and stares at you. Did you just say that last thought aloud? It takes you a second to not sound completely out of breath. “Um… what?”

He shakes his head, unable to dim the giant smile plastered on his face. “Nothing. I – I’m happy. Am I not allowed to smile?”

Your body is one giant mass of frustration and he’s stopping to smile at you. You manipulate your hips in his ‘signature’ move to remind him of the circumstances and he chortles – an interesting sensation with your bodies pressed together as they are. He shifts away from you to reach towards the bedside table. “Tom? Looking for something?” You’re starting to laugh from his odd behavior.

Tom pauses, looking momentarily perplexed. “Oh… right. Guest bedroom. Hang on.” He moves to get out of bed and then changes his mind and leans back to you. He gives you a quick peck, hesitates, and kisses you again with a little more force before getting up. “Don’t. Move.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him dash out of the room in nothing but his underwear. You can hear him crashing around his room before a dim light reflects down the hallway. God if he hurts himself… “Tom? Are you okay?”

“What?” He calls back.

You’re sitting up now. “Whatever you’re doing. Can’t it wait?” Are you really begging him for sex? This is slightly embarrassing. Under the sheet you pull your knees up towards your torso and press your fingertips to the space between your eyebrows.

With your eyes closed you hadn’t realized that Tom had reappeared in the doorway. You jump when he speaks. “I wanted to make sure the alarm was set loud enough on my phone and… well – the way things are going – no. It couldn’t.”

Now you’re even more embarrassed. Crap. Where was your head? You were so focused on instant gratification that you’d blocked out everything else. Tom still had to work in the morning and all you were thinking about was getting him into bed with you. Ok it has been awhile – a very long while – for you but that’s no excuse. How early was his call time? “Ah – right…”

The bed shifts with the added weight as Tom rejoins you. He pulls your hand away from your face and kisses your palm. “Darling, please don’t hide from me…” He starts to massage his thumb into your palm while he waits for you to respond.

“Not hiding, per se – embarrassed.” Your cheeks are burning. You’re either going to die of embarrassment or unsated tension. Your body hasn’t quite decided yet.

You look up to see Tom nodding with his eyes slowly working their way down the exposed part of your body, following the blush as it extends over your skin. “I can see that.”

Unsated tension just gained the upper hand.

His eyes meet yours again and he starts to get up out of the bed. Before he releases the hand he had been massaging you use it to snag his fingers. “Now where are you going?”

He is caught, half standing. He blinks at you. “Um, to put on something more than my pants? You – um? I’m confused.” He allows you to pull him back so he is seated on the bed again.

You shift to tuck your legs beneath you and move up onto your knees, letting the sheet fall down onto the bed. You do your best to mimic him, “Darling –” you lean forward to lightly brush your lips against his. “Embarrassment doesn’t equal doubt. And you don’t need clothing right now - you’re not even going to need your pants soon.”

When you pull away again Tom gives you an approving nod, “Not bad – though you need to…”

You laugh, “Oh critique the accent later!”

 -

A steady beeping wakes you. You mutter into the pillow. “Uunngggh. Oh hell, not again…”

“That’s not the smoke detectors, ________. That’s my alarm.” Tom’s reply is muffled because he is talking into the side of his arm. You laugh and wriggle your body further into his. Best. Trip. Abroad. Ever. Traveling around with the cast during the filming of Touring Sundays was great but this is something completely different. Maybe it is just the company you’re keeping.

You’re remarkably well rested considering all the interruptions to your sleep schedule. You can feel Tom roll in the bed just before he wraps his arm over your midsection. His breath on your neck gives you goose bumps. “I should get up for work.”

You are enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against yours but the unrelenting noise of the alarm prevents you from falling back asleep. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Enough.” He takes a deep breath. “Ok. I’m getting up now. Getting up to go to work.”

“And to turn off that alarm?” You wait but he doesn’t move. “Would it help if I got up too?” You let the question hang and are met with silence. You sit up and his arm falls down into your lap. You prod him, “Well?”

“I’m thinking….” He is smiling and keeping his eyes closed as though that will forestall the day. “Debatable.”

You scoot from his grasp to get out of bed. After plucking a shirt and some underwear from your bag you peek back over at the bed. Tom has shifted only slightly but you’re happy to see that he at least has his eyes open now. “Why is your phone still in the other room anyway?”

“Sorry, I was slightly fractured at the time…” Tom arches his eyebrows at you.

His response draws a laugh from you. “Right. So are you going to get up to turn off that alarm or am I going to have to accidentally make a phone call at oh-my-God in the morning?” You’d much rather jump back into bed with him but you know that is impractical. Rather than tempt yourself by watching him get out of bed you make your way into his room to search out and silence his alarm. You call out to him moment before sighting the phone laying where he had apparently tossed it onto the haphazardly arranged sheets on his bed. “Where is your phone? Oh…”

Tom finds you examining the lock screen of his phone – a beautiful shot of a London sunrise. He tosses his shirt and sweatpants into his laundry bin before reaching around you to slide his finger over the screen and pressing the sequence to unlock his phone and then silence the alarm. The picture that you are now greeted with is of you - one that he captured from one of the first few days you spent with him in LA. He kisses your temple before smiling down at the picture. “Maybe we can update that this week.”

You carefully place his phone on the side table before turning to swat him towards the bathroom. “Maybe. Now go shower – I’ll make you some coffee? Tea? If you have time - maybe some sort of breakfast depending on what you have in the kitchen…”

He pauses just before entering the bathroom to look back at you, surveying your attire head to foot. “If you’ll be making breakfast dressed like that I may need to supervise.”

Right. You’re still in a shirt and underwear. Funny how he makes you forget such things. You shake your head at him. “Tom. Shower. Supervise tomorrow if you feel so inclined.”

Tom takes a few steps into the bathroom, doing a slight shuffle when his bare feet hit the apparently cold tile floor. "Wouldn’t you like to join me?"

Yes. But no. That would be counterproductive. If you stand there too much longer you'll lose your willpower to stay out of the shower. Maybe if you put on pants, or he puts on more clothes, or both... Or if he would stop almost-dancing about the bathroom. You shake your head. "I'll shower after you leave. Is that a yes or no to caffeine? Breakfast?" You don't wait for his reply, turning to head to the kitchen.

Tom's voice echoes to you from the bathroom just before you hear the water for the shower being turned on. "They’ll have something there, probably. But – yes to coffee. Yes. Please!"

The coffee machine _appears_ to require special packets in order to make coffee. While searching the cabinets you stumble upon a French press and a bag of pre-ground coffee, opting for the simpler method rather than continuing the quest for the packets. While the water heats in the kettle on the stove you retrieve your phone from the guest bedroom, straightening the bed sheets and picking up your discarded clothing. You start back to the kitchen and then do a u-turn while muttering to yourself. “Pants. Pants would be good.” 


	14. Chapter 14

Tom is singing in the shower and it echoes down the hallway to reach your ears in the kitchen. He’s trying to lure you in as a siren would a sailor. The water heating in the kettle, the ultimate promise of caffeine, helps to keep you grounded.

You scoop one foot underneath you when you sit at the kitchen table to scroll through messages on your phone. Matt wants to know all about your trip. He is somewhere on the eastern seaboard back stateside and reminds you that there is ‘only’ a five hour time difference. In Smith-speak that translates to: _call me or else._

Mark had sent a few messages asking after your plans – then just requesting that you call him. You check the time. It is still a little early to be calling, even if the messages say ASAP. Benedict, evidently still on London time – poor thing, has sent you a list of a few places to wander while waiting for Tom. Honestly you aren’t all that interested in sightseeing without having Tom there to share the moment but you'll take Benedict's advice all the same.

You are just finishing pushing the plunger down on the French press when Tom enters the kitchen. He wraps you in his arms, careful not to interfere with your pouring of the hot liquid. “Hmm smells fantastic.”

You press yourself back into his body for a minute but your craving for caffeine ultimately draws your forward again to retrieve your mug from the counter top. Coffee in hand you settle back into the chair that you had claimed at the table. Tom remains standing, choosing to lean back against the counter near the sink. After a sip at his mug he tilts his head towards the coffee machine, his question silent.

“I found the press while searching for the packets for the coffee maker.” You shrug with your reply.

Tom eyes you and opens the cabinet just above the machine to reveal the needed supplies. You scowl. You could have sworn you looked there.

“You could have come to ask me.” He knows why you didn’t but voices the comment all the same. “What are your plans for the day?”

You swirl your coffee around in the mug. “Go to the park? Maybe window shop. I’ll figure something out to keep myself entertained. I do owe everyone back home a few calls, eventually. Mark was _particularly_ adamant.”

“More news regarding the Touring Sundays sequel?”

Such an adorable fanboy. “You’ll know as soon as I know anything more about the project….. He’s probably just worried I’ll get lost wandering around London.” You look at your phone with a slight scowl before rolling your eyes.

Tom chuckles and checks his watch, setting him in motion again. “I second Mark on that. Please don’t get lost. I’ll keep you updated as best I can regarding the day. We could do lunch if you find yourself nearby when we break?” He waits until you nod before setting his mug down and patting his pockets. You can see the outline of his phone in his pocket and hear the jingle of his keys when he taps them. “Keys! You’ll need a key…” Tom hurtles from the kitchen leaving you blinking after him. You are about to stand to find out where he rocketed off to when he bounds back into the kitchen, stopping just short of you and squatting down to be closer to eye level with you. He presses a single shining key into your hand. “Glad I remembered where I’d stashed that.” He rests his hands on your knees while you examine the key, “The uh – lock sometimes sticks, just so you know.”

You nod, finally pulling your eyes away from the silver key and up to meet his gaze.

He puffs out a sigh, “I wish I could stay and have breakfast… among other things.” He leans forward to kiss you, sliding his hands up your thighs to your hips before disengaging and moving to stand again.

“Was that payback for not joining you in the shower?” You lick your lips after he stands fully. Your body is now humming with desire again. Damn you Hiddleston.

Tom shrugs mischievously and pats his pocket to indicate his phone while walking towards the door. “Let me know what Mark has to say.”

You wait a moment after you hear the door click shut before stirring from your seat. The bathroom still smells like his soap. You stand in the middle of the floor breathing in the scent, reticent to alter it to the smell of your own body wash and shampoo.

Tom had been wearing jeans and a light jacket so you pull out the only sweater you packed to ward off the early morning chill. Mindful of Mark’s curious insistence for caution you set your ball cap and sunglasses next to your bag so you’ll remember to wear them while wandering today. You recheck the side pockets of your bag but still your bracelet doesn’t present itself. You’ll have to remember to see if Mark will look around your hotel room and double check your packed away belongings, just to settle your mind as to its whereabouts. Dressed and ready for the day you tap out messages to Matt and Mark to let them know you are awake and they can call you whenever they would like.

Your phone nearly immediately buzzes but you ignore the text until you’ve made sure that the door to Tom’s place is secured. You glance down and laugh aloud at Matt’s response.

_That was not a phone call, _______!_

You are about to respond when his call comes through.

“You’re up early.”

“Tom had to get up to go in. You know how I am, once I’m up… Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” You are trying to remember which direction you want to walk to get to the park. Tom had told you about his early morning runs so often you want to see what it is like there at this time of day.

There is chatter in the background as Matt responds. “Haven’t gotten to bed yet – too many things to do and people to see. There’s time to nap before the panel.” You can hear him jostling the phone around. “And what you said just registered. Maybe I do need sleep after all... _Tom had to_ _get up_ … Your voice changes when you talk about him, you know.”

And now you’re fighting a fierce flush. You are caught mid-laugh when you glance to the side as you pass a magazine vendor and find several magazine featuring some sort of spin on _The Battle of the Brits_. “Oh for fuck’s sake.” The vendor looks up at your sharply and Matt’s rambling stops when he hears you curse. You’ve stopped walking and step towards the magazines for a closer look, speaking softly into your phone and also apologizing to the vendor. “Sorry. Sorry, Matt. Sorry, sorry. I’m out walking and just…. I’ll share _some_ details about the trip with you later but I need to…” You pick up one of the magazines at random, pay for it, and continue walking before you resume your rant. “Apparently since I was cast opposite Benedict the media here has really been pushing a love triangle development between Tom, myself, and Benedict. That stupid _Battle of the Brits_ article…”

“Am I still included?” Matt’s trying to make you laugh and distract you. His comment at least draws a little smile from you to dull the annoyance you’re feeling.

“I don’t know but I just picked up a copy. When I get to the park I’ll read it and let you know. Someone brought it up last night during drinks and he bristled a bit. He was all smiles, but you could see it in his eyes… But – God, Matt, I don’t think he can go anywhere here without seeing it mentioned and I hate that for him.” You sigh and look down at the magazine in your hand.

The background noise is gone from Matt’s end and you know that he has ducked away to have privacy to talk to you. “Maybe, maybe you shouldn’t even read it – the article. Just throw it away ______. You don’t need those voices in your head. Just be with him and enjoy the moment. You sounded so happy when you answered the phone - ah -  before the cursing.”

You don’t throw the magazine away but rather shove it down into the depths of your bag. You still plan on talking with Tom about it further, the short chat you had last night doesn’t begin to cover your frustration over the issue, but Matt has a point. You do your best to push your annoyance with the media aside in favor of the contentment you felt this morning – well – contentment wish a dash of lust because Tom was being a tease. 

"I was happy. I am happy. Just because a complete stranger puts something into print doesn't mean it is true." 

"That's my girl. So you're out walking?" 

You're still a few minutes from the park. "Yes. I thought I'd go see where Tom has mentioned that he likes to run sometimes before grabbing something for breakfast." 

"And you're where, again?" You relay to him the intersection you just passed. He takes a minute before recommending a few places to eat. It seems everyone has recommendations for what you should be doing during your visit. You ring off after promising to arrange a time see him once you were back stateside, and he was back in LA again, so that you can enjoy wandering through the park and taking photos of the scenery.  


	15. Chapter 15

After strolling around the park near Tom's place, and adding more than a few photos to the growing collection on your phone, you make your way to one of the nearby cafés that Matt recommended. You consume a light breakfast before wandering on towards the shops where Benedict suggested you browse. It is convenient that there are shops dotting the streets between your current location and where Tom is working.

You mostly plan on window shopping and people watching to pass the time. The only thing that is really on your shopping list is something barely there and made of lace. Tom might not have complained but it is hard to feel sexy in yoga gear - or rather - being peeled out of yoga gear. While you wander, and while Tom is still waiting for his scenes, you exchange messages regarding the progression of the morning.

You have made the mistake of referring to the park where he runs as 'his little park', and he now refuses to refer to it as anything else. _We’ll run there tomorrow if you’re up for it. You may not like **my little park** so much then._

You tap back a response, while unable to decide between the variations of the lingerie you have sought out. _We’ll run there tomorrow if **you** are_ _up for it. You are the one at work right now._ _I need your opinion. Blue, red, grey, black?_

_All of the above? How does that relate to running? Or work? I’m lost, love._

_It doesn’t. Choose one please. Does it help if I further define the colors? Royal blue, cherry red, gunmetal grey, midnight black?_ You'd describe the lace patterns too but then that might give him too much of a hint and would take away the fun of keeping him guessing.

_Not in the slightest. Context?_

_Oh just pick a color._ “You’ll thank me later, Tom.” You murmur.

You huff at his next message. _I stand by my answer until you give me more to go on._

Fine. When you are stubborn, this is what you get Tom... You arrange the lingerie side by side, snap a photo and send it to him. You’re starting to lean towards the gunmetal grey one – the pattern of the lace is slightly different than the others and the color looks nice against your skin. It is taking him a moment to respond… If he likes what he sees you’ll gladly reap the rewards once back at his place. That is, after all, the point of purchasing said item of clothing.

Tom’s reply makes you laugh aloud which draws a few curious glances. _Peter would like to know why I just spat my water all over him. My answer stands – all of the above. Of course now they're giving us a five minute warning. While Peter dries out I need to go try to settle my mind again._

You are halfway through responding when you see a message from Mark. _Out of meetings, finally. Call if you are able._

You finish your apology to Tom quickly, _Sorry Tom! Sorry! Though I did try to keep you in the dark…_ _Go get into character and I’ll get back to my shopping._  Remembering that he had said that he didn't think they would be finished by noon you add to your note. _Will we be okay meeting at 1?_

 _Yes. Meet me there. Silly to have you walk to meet me and then backtrack._ You find yourself nodding in response, as though Tom can see you.

He may have said yes to all four of the colors, but you only have so much space in your suitcase. You are back to comparing each of the four when you dial Mark’s number. He sounds a bit hesitant in greeting you which makes you wince. “Mark? Don’t tell me that they’re asking me to come back already. I just got here….” And I really want to wear one of these – any of these – all of these – and see Tom’s reaction…

“What? No? No. Not that I’ve heard, ______. Look...” When he has bad news he always slows down the tempo of his speech. You’ve learned to be wary of his carefully measured words. “Eddie and I have been talking and agree that it might be a good idea to look into personal security for you.”

You trace your fingertips over the lace patterns, “You know I’m not crazy about the idea of having someone babysitting me. Has something happened?”

He hems a bit and you hear the rustle of papers. Suddenly you find the image of the stack of hate mail that he had in his office appearing in your head. Maybe you were - thereby he was getting more? Oh wow – that thought makes your stomach clench.

“Just – I feel like a broken record here – be careful. You’re in the headlines now whether you want to admit it or not, _______. You haven’t been telling people on set, or anybody there, exactly where you’ll be moving, right?”

Had you? You try to think back. “I – um – no? I don't think so... Just that I’m excited about having my own place again? Oh, speaking of my own place and Eddie and the hotel… Can you possibly go by and see if I packed my silver bracelet in the bag I left in the room? You know the one –”

Mark cuts you off, “That your mother gave you. I’ll see what I can do. So now that we have the work part of the call behind us – how’s London?”

“A little chilly at the moment but I’ve got a jacket and…”

“And Tom.” He laughs.

You continue while ducking your head to hide your smile, “And a hat on. I’ll do my best not to get sick while I’m here.” You replace the blue and red pieces in their respective piles in the store’s display and scoop up the gunmetal and the black negligées to take to the register.  

“I’m sure Benedict and the crew will greatly appreciate your efforts.” He is still laughing at you but is thankfully interrupted. “And there’s my call waiting. I wrote myself a note regarding the bracelet. Don’t worry. It will turn up. Have fun over there.”

For the remainder of the morning you return to your original plan of window shopping. You have to keep reminding yourself that your suitcase is fairly small and was pretty full on the trip over – not to mention the fact that you want to avoid a charge for extra weight if you can help it.

You’ve meandered your way towards the restaurant where Tom wanted to meet. The day has warmed up enough that you are able to remove your jacket and wait for his arrival while standing out on the sidewalk in the sunshine. 

A quick check of the time on your phone confirms what you suspect – Tom is running a little late. Really he should be staying on set during his lunch break, not meeting up with you. If you keep this up you'll become known as 'the woman that distracts Tom from his work at every chance'. Even with the restaurant being in close proximity it adds costume changes and additional time in makeup and... You are about to call him to tell him not to worry about lunch - that you’ll see him at his place at the end of the day, when you see him appear around the corner of the building. Tom’s silhouette stands out in the crowd of people, at least to your eye.

You smile when you realize that he is hurrying. Is this a prelude to seeing him exercise tomorrow? He may be running a few minutes late but that is no need to jog. You tilt your head to the side while watching his gait a little more closely. No.. that is closer to running. 

Your curiosity stifles your giggle as you watch Tom running up the sidewalk towards you – did your picture of your lingerie purchases inspire him to want to see you that badly? You start to lift your hand in both greeting and question when he spots you and starts making hand motions to you in return. His is not a wave of greeting but frantic motions for you to go in the restaurant. You see why momentarily.

Tom is being chased.


	16. Chapter 16

What is going on? You are supposed to be meeting Tom at a restaurant during his lunch break – how had that devolved into the chaos you see on the sidewalk? As a result of his full out sprint Tom has already nearly run the length of the building. You are looking past his frantic motions at the crowd that is trying to catch up to him. Really you should be turning to run but you are stuck, taking it all in. This is exactly why large groups make you nervous. The door to the restaurant swings open and the hostess pops out, drawing your attention away from the quickly approaching group. You are grateful that you had thought to check in with the hostess and tell her that you were going to wait on the sidewalk – she is talking hurriedly into her headset while waving her hand to signal that you can seek out shelter in the building.

Tom’s sharp bark brings your focus back to him as he slows his pace to close the final steps between the two of you. “Sweetheart. Get. Inside. Now!” You have time to spin to face the building before Tom reaches you, slightly out of breath. “Go – go – go. They’ll stop, I hope, at the door.”

You nod to the hostess, “Thanks.” She smiles and swings the door shut behind the three of you, motioning across the building towards the end of the bar where a woman is waiting. Pausing in the entryway you shift your bag more securely onto your shoulder, “Tom are we staying here or…?” You can probably keep up with Tom, at least for a little while, if he chooses to just dash through the building and keep running. It’ll be more difficult with your bag to worry about but you’ll figure something out.

The fastest of those in pursuit reach the restaurant’s doorway moments after Tom grabs your hand and pulls you towards the manager moving the pair of you along the bar and into the mingling crowd in the restaurant. The first few to reach the door are hesitant as to the next course of action. Will they follow the pair of you inside or lie in wait on the sidewalk? Tom will have to emerge to go back to work at some point, after all. Patrons inside have noticed your grand entrance and pause in their dining to watch the events unfold, a few of them standing to get a better look.

“I suppose that depends on her.” Tom nods his head to the woman who is visibly bouncing while she waits for the pair of you to reach her. He has your hand firmly grasped with his so you keep your eyes on the door to watch the group on the sidewalk growing in size. With each additional member the confidence level of the group seems to grow.

You speak up when the first wave of people swing the door wide open only to be met by the hostess and a few of the waiters who have stopped their usual routines to stand in the entryway. “Um… Tom?” You give his hand a squeeze to get his attention.

The woman scowls at the group now pouring in the door. “Ugh. They’d better get appetizers, at least. Hello, Mr. Hiddleston, _______. I’m the manager here.”

“Sorry about this. We had intended on a quiet lunch but… Someone should arrive soon to pick us up. I managed to get a call out before all hell broke loose on the way here.” Tom is waving his free hand in circles while he talks to the manager. The motion of his arm draws your attention to the sleeve of his shirt which is pulled slightly out of shape. Wasn’t he wearing a jacket this morning? Hopefully he had chosen to leave it behind and wasn’t relieved of it on the way here. Poor Tom – what exactly had happened to him on the way to meet you?

The restaurant’s manager is surveying the efficiency of her staff as they react to the swell of people trying to gain entrance. The few already inside are searching the faces of the patrons closest to them, trying to pick the pair of you out of the crowd. They haven’t yet looked down the bar to spot you but if you remain in the unobstructed spot much longer it is inevitable that you’ll be discovered. “I’d offer you a table but we need to get things quieted down in here first. Should get you two out of sight. Only door that locks is the office but there’s no time to…” You are distracted by the noise level in the restaurant rising and the rest of her sentence is lost to you.

Tom takes a moment to pause and pull you around him so he stands between you and those in pursuit. Since you are no longer holding onto Tom’s hand to reassure yourself of his presence you focus on the pressure of his palm against your back. “Someplace else?” He looks around for inspiration, “Through the kitchen?”

“That group is not going to run through my kitchen! No… Should be able to make them think you ducked out the back and hide you… this way.” She spins and leads the pair of you down a hallway and once it turns you see that she has paused to push open a side door revealing the supplies room. “Not glamorous but, in you go.”

You briefly glimpse the large steel door that must lead to the outside world before stepping into the supplies room – closet, a more accurate word. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the lack of light once inside the small room. Aside from the cleared space to allow the door to open there isn’t much room to stand. As soon as the door shuts Tom leans his weight against it. In the gloom he looks as though he is preparing for a photo shoot rather than trying to make sure the door remains closed. You reach out to find Tom’s arm, then let your hand travel up to rest on his chest. You lean into him, feeling his heart still beating rapidly. He wraps his arm around you and talks softly into your hair after kissing the top of your head, “Are you alright?”

“I’m not the one that was chased here.” You shake your head and smile into the dark.

“This is not how I saw lunch going today.”

Oh Tom. You can hear the movements of the manager in the hallway. She is trying to sell the idea that the pair of you are making a run for it down the alleyway behind the restaurant. “This isn’t something you could have predicted.”

“It’s just that the food here is fantastic. I think you would have enjoyed…” Tom stops speaking when the sound of assorted squeals and shouts announce the arrival of those who are pursuit as they squeeze into the hallway. The door to the supplies room remains closed though you feel impact vibrations as jostling ensues in the hallway.

The restaurant manager is scolding the group and practically yelling to be heard over the group’s combined chattering. “Alright you lot chased them away.”

A few sound disheartened at the news. You hear the door hinge signal that someone has opened the door to the alleyway. Though it is muffled you can make out a conversation between two people on the other side of the door. “What? Did she say ‘them’?”

“Yea! Ohmigawd didn’t I tell you I thought I saw her on the sidewalk? C’mon, maybe…”

“No. No more running today. Please.”

The bickering fades as the manager does her best to clear out the more stubborn individuals in the crowd. Evidently a few haven’t fallen for the ruse or else are too winded to immediately move on. You can feel that Tom’s pulse has finally resumed a normal pace. Once the noise of the group dies down you risk speaking again, though still keeping your voice low on the off chance that there are still a few of the search party seeking you out in the hallway. “Did they chase you the whole way here?”

From now on you need to make it a point to be leaning against him when he chuckles. “Hmm. No, not the whole way, but once one started to run the rest did. After that I was just trying to stay ahead of them.”

You lean back to look at him and pinch a bit of his shirt between your fingers to tug on it, “They caught you at some point, I think?”

He grins down at you, “Only for a moment.”

You both freeze and fall silent when you hear tapping on the door but relax when you hear the manager’s voice. “Sorry that took so long. Most of them are back out on the sidewalk.” You sidestep Tom to squeeze back out into the brightness of the hallway. She is shaking her head while sizing the pair of you up. “Should have seen them sprinting off down the alley. If you’d like we can go back out and seat you at the bar? I owe you for stuffing you in with the mops.”

Tom has already pulled out his phone and is typing out a message. “The where doesn’t matter. Thank you for providing us shelter. Let me see how close they are.”

“Even if they insist on Tom riding back I might stay – he said your food is fantastic and frankly I’m starving.” You smile over at Tom has paused typing out his message to give you a stern look. “What?”

“When I go, you go.”

The manager is leading the way back through the hallway. “And what, ask nicely if they’ll drop me off at your place?”

“Of course not. You’ll come back to the set with me.” He glances down at his phone before addressing the manager while she points out two seats at the end of the bar. “They’ll be here soon to pick us up out front. I do want ______ to try your food while she’s in London. Can I make a reservation for tomorrow?”

She nods. “And you’ll not have to wait till tomorrow for a taste of our food, ______. You’ll not be leaving here empty handed. I’ll get a sampler bagged as quickly as possible.”

Things have settled back down in the restaurant though you note that a few people nearby noticed your quiet reentrance to the room. A few diners are taking photos with their phones but nobody comes over to interact with the pair of you. Those waiting outside on the sidewalk probably won’t give you as much consideration. Rather than worry about that now you continue to try to talk Tom out of his stubbornness. “I’ll only be in the way if I go back with you.” You shake your head, “I’ll ride with you back to set if you insist on leaving here together. And, and then I’ll get a cab to your place.”

From the look on his face this is clearly not a discussion where you will end up getting your way. “You won’t be in the way. Besides, if you’re on set I’ll know you’re alright.”

Visiting while they were still in pre-production was one thing but during filming? “At least call and get approval.” He won’t have any choice but to let you go back to his place if they deny his request.

Before Tom can place the call his phone starts to ring. He nods towards the door after looking at the incoming number. “They’re here.” While he talks on the phone you stand and assess the crowd again. Before you can lean to scoop up your bag Tom has picked it up and slings it over his own shoulder. While you are winding your way through the patrons towards the door someone hurries out of the kitchen holding your bag of food. Hopefully they’ll let you eat in the car. Even with your nerves making your stomach do flips you find that you really are quite hungry. That’s what you get for eating such a light breakfast this morning.

You take a moment to thank both the hostess and the manager again. Bless them for being so quick to react to the situation as it happened. A two man security team has cleared the path between the car and the restaurant door. One takes the bag of food and nods to Tom while the other takes up his position next to you.

Tom wraps his arm protectively over your shoulder while the guard on your right gives instructions. “Tom, ______, just walk straight to the car. Don't stop. I’ll get the door. _______ get in and slide across so Tom can sit. We’ll be outta here before you know it.” 


	17. Chapter 17

Tom is grinning at you triumphantly from the other side of the expansive backseat of the car. The powers-that-be had said yes to his request that you spend the rest of the day on set. Of course they had said yes to him. Tom’s breaks were also restricted to the location now to prevent any further incidents but he was choosing to overlook that detail to focus on the fact that he would have you in close proximity for the rest of the day. Now you just had to figure out what to do with yourself so you would be out of the way while everyone around you was working.

Traffic and one way streets are making the ride back to the location a bit longer than you would have guessed since Tom had been able to walk the distance. While munching on the contents of one of the numerous takeaway boxes Tom is pointing out the route he took to both you and the security team. “It bottlenecks just there – and that’s where I got tangled up.”

You reach into the open takeaway box in his lap and pluck out another something to eat. You wave the food at him while you playfully scold him, “You should have just circled back at that point.” Two grunts of approval from the front seat support your statement. You catch the eye and smile at the guard that isn’t driving when he looks in the rearview mirror. Other than the brief instructions they gave you in the restaurant they’ve been quiet. Tom takes advantage of your distraction to ensnare your hand and bring the food in your fingertips to his mouth. “Hey!”

He doesn’t release your hand while he chews. “I was already running late.” He pauses to draw your fingers back to his mouth to suck away some of the sauce that had remained on your fingertips. “There was only one direction my feet would agree to.”

You want to continue arguing your point but your words appear to be caught in your throat. It’s the eye contact while his mouth removes the sauce from your fingertips that has done it. The noise you make is half delight, half squeak.

Damn it Tom, there are other people in the car. He winks at you while releasing your hand. Smug, adorable, tease of a man – he is using any means necessary to keep from admitting that you are right. Before he can catch your hand again you scoop up another piece of food and pop it into your mouth which incidentally gives you time to loosen your voice once more. There are untouched boxes in the bag that sit in the floorboard between you and Tom. “If these are what she considers a quickly packed sampler I can’t wait to see the full menu.”

He nods while his eyes search your face. “I hoped you would like the food. Though by making reservations for dinner tomorrow we may have limited our sightseeing plans.”

“I thought we’d figured this out already.” Tom’s look of confusion makes you giggle. “Another trip?” The car is slowing to pull into the parking lot, trying to gently push past the gathered crowd waiting on the street beyond. Days on the set of Touring Sundays were nothing like this. “Oh wow – there are so many people. I’m surprised you even made it out through this.”

Now Tom has turned to look at the numerous fans as well. “I um, I didn’t use this entrance.”

You hear the driver mutter something under his breath and the other guard nods before turning in his seat to address the both of you. “Most of them have been here since Tom got here this morning. Ok. Just so we’re all on the same page…” He stops because the both of you haven’t turned back to look at him. He lets out a sigh, “You want to greet them don’t you.”

Tom is still looking at the crowd. “They’ve been out there a long time.”

“Tom do I need to remind you - ______, help me out here.”

You are watching Tom look out at the gathering. His internal struggle is evident. After being chased a number of blocks he is wary but still hating the idea that he is disappointing his fans. When Tom turns to look at you you give him a small nod of understanding before turning to reply to the guard. “Yes, we want to greet them.”

You are graced with a brief frown from the security guard before he turns back in his seat. Clearly he thought you would support him since you had just been vocal about your feelings about Tom’s safety. This is different, you reason. The situation is more controlled and there are numerous security guards to help keep things from devolving. Before getting out of the now parked car the guard shakes his head at the driver and shrugs. “Alright. It’s your food that is getting cold. The two of you stay between us. If one of us says it is time to go, it is time to go.”

Tom has already closed the lid on the takeaway container and is pushing it back into the bag with the others. “Just a quick hello.” He promises. Somehow he ends up with your bag and you end up with the food. Holding the food is fine with you. You are only here visiting, this is Tom’s moment, not yours. You even try a few times to take a side-step away to allow him to focus his attention more thoroughly on the fans but each time he wrangles you back in. Finally he wraps his arm around you and pulls you close to whisper into your ear, “Stop that. You’re making me paranoid. Did I sweat that much during the run? Do I need a shower?”

“What? No. You smell…” you pause to inhale and oh, you really shouldn’t have done that. Your brain offers up – _delicious_. No – that’s the scent of the food still lingering on his clothes. No – that’s your sex drive offering up less than helpful thoughts as a result of his sucking at your fingers earlier. You bite your lip, searching for a word that doesn’t further your frustration. “Errr – fine. You smell fine. You smell like you.” Mmmm but Tom mentioned showering and your brain careens to thoughts of his request this morning that you shower with him. And now you have the rest of the day to sit and stew while Tom works. You wink and offer up a teasing smile, “Ask me again later and I might help you wash away the day.”

Tom’s eyebrows raise at the comment and he turns to fully face you. The security guard clears his throat to interrupt the moment. “Tom. They’re calling for you in wardrobe.”

You watch Tom’s shoulders rise and fall with an exaggerated inhale and exhale of breath. You lick your lips. Oh dear, did you break him? The guard shifts, unsure what to do since Tom hasn’t indicated that he heard. Tom expels another breath before he turns his head to nod at the guard. As he waves goodbye to his fans and walks with you towards the building he mutters to you. “I knew I was in trouble when you were biting your lip but....” He doesn't finish the sentence with words but with a slow shake of his head as he pulls you closer.

Rather than take up some of the limited space in Tom’s dressing room, and torturing yourself by watching him change, you choose to wait for him to settle in for makeup. It is difficult to judge where you will be the most out of the way – at home is the correct response, but Tom refused to see reason on that point. You end up sitting atop the counters that line the wall directly opposite of the giant mirrors and work stations for the makeup artists. With your legs crossed up into a half lotus and the bag of takeaway boxes on the counter next to you, this is just about as out of the way as you can manage. A few of the Tom’s costars arrive for touch ups, curious as to your presence but too focused on the job to pry in depth before they leave the room again. You are still working on sampling the various takeaway boxes when Tom appears. He scans the room once and upon spotting you beelines in your direction while chuckling at your location.

“Well that didn’t take long.” You are surprised by the costume, parts of it are soiled and torn. Apparently they are already filming the fight sequences that he and Peter were learning techniques for back in LA a few weeks ago. Tom gives you a quick peck on the cheek and accepts the proffered takeaway container from you before wandering to his seat to allow the makeup artists to get to work. “I haven’t seen or heard Peter yet. Is he the one to have done that?” Dear Lord just seeing him in costume is making your brain want to make the time jump with him. You motion to your own shoulder to indicate the rip you see on his corresponding sleeve.

Tom is watching you in the mirror now that he is seated in the makeup chair. “Mmm I’ll remember to scold him. He’s off pouting that I will once again win the skirmish.”

It is amazing the magic that can be worked with a little bit of prosthetic, skill, and patience. When Tom holds his shirt open you see that a wound has already been replicated and applied to his bicep. You hadn’t noticed that with all the excitement earlier. You don’t have a good vantage point to view the condition of the prosthesis, but the two makeup artists tut at Tom, saying the prosthetic is peeling up in a few places. He doesn’t counter with an explanation as to why, only apologizes for being careless with their work. It just takes a second to repair but they seem to enjoy reprimanding him. Tom doesn’t have to sit long before they declare him finished – the parts of his shoulder and arm that are visible through the tear in his shirt now bloodied and a small prosthetic applied along his forearm. His exposed skin has been dressed to match the condition of his soiled clothing. You had tried to hold your tongue and remain seated throughout the process but found yourself unable to contain your thoughts. Most men clean up nicely – Tom, you muse, has the ability to look good even coated in grime.

This crew, bless them, seem to have endless patience with your continued presence. You have ended up standing just off to the side of Tom’s left knee to watch the final touches being added to the area on his forearm. If you hadn’t just watched them apply it to his skin you would be panicked and searching for gauze and a compress. Tom stretches his arms out wide to test the movement of the newly applied piece until both he and the artists are satisfied.

Time for work now. He cocks his head to one side to ask, “A kiss for luck?”

He has spades of talent, like he needs luck on his side. You roll your eyes and lean in to kiss him. You pause though, backtracking quickly just before your hand would have made contact with his neck for balance. The face Tom makes at your motions draws laughter from the makeup artists still lingering at their work stations. You are looking to them to make sure you won’t mess up their carefully applied work. “Is it safe?” You resume the action once you are given the go ahead.

Even after receiving his kiss Tom is still playfully petulant. He tries to pull you into his lap but you manage to escape his grasp. “Come here. I’m _supposed_ to look giddy and disheveled.”

“Giddy and disheveled and covered in dirt and blood. They worked hard to get you that way.” You nod towards his two makeup artists who are trying to reset their stations while also enjoying the entertainment that you and Tom are providing. “Let’s keep in on the appropriate surface then, ok? You, not me.”

Since no other actors have arrived to have their makeup applied or touched up you stay behind after Tom leaves and talk with the crew members about their work. Tom had finished off the last of the one open takeaway box but there are still a few in the bag that remain unopened. You leave one box with the makeup artists and get directions to the craft services area to leave the remaining containers with the intent of sharing the wonderful food with the rest of the crew.

Now the question is what to do with the rest of the day to keep busy while Tom is working. Tom had taken your bag with him when he went to his dressing room. You can probably find your way back there and mess about on your phone, maybe listen to some music... There are probably also more than a few messages that you need to respond to. You pass back by makeup and then stumble upon wardrobe.

Whatever messages you need to review can wait, the costumes for this project are stunning. You engage yourself in conversation with those working at the moment, prompting for details about each piece when they have time. You spot the clothing designed for Tom even before noticing the label near the rack or having it pointed out to you. There are several copies of the shirt that Tom is currently wearing with varying degrees of wear and tear to them. Are these from scenes he has already shot or in preparation for future events? You’ve ended up settling next to one of the guys carefully repairing a ripped seam. He continues his work while he talks with you, quickly moving through the repairs he needs to make.  

The conversation is interrupted by the muted chatter you can barely hear coming through the headset of your current companion. He lets out a laugh and pauses in his work to amble over to the set of clothing marked as belonging to Peter. “They’ve torn another of Peter’s shirts. They’re keeping me busy, at least. I hope they don’t damage any more of them past repair or I’ll be needing to make a run to buy more of them.” He drapes the shirt over his shoulder and motions for you to accompany him, “Convince your boyfriend to go easy on the costumes, yea?”  

There are a fair few people milling about when you reach the set, more than you would consider normal. You soon see why. Peter is shirtless and sweating from exertion as a result of the action sequence, his trousers having numerous gashes and smears of fake blood as well. No wonder there are so many people standing around, he is just as well-toned as Tom. He dabs away at the sweat carefully before accepting the proffered shirt, exchanging it for the torn one. He spots you among the group and gives you a small wave but you hang back, not wanting to interrupt the momentum they’ve built. You give your head a small shake when he tilts his towards Tom, who has his back turned towards you while he is discussing the scene with the director.

Once Peter is back in costume and everyone is reset they start shooting the scene again. You aren’t quite prepared for the way the pair of them throw themselves into their skirmish. Your breath catches with each lunge. They know the routine well and they are being supervised yet your stomach still clenches with the vehemence of the strikes. One blow sends Peter’s weapon clattering away across the floor, the next leaves him sprawled out and beaten at Tom’s feet. Tom still hasn’t spotted you, even when he turns to walk towards the camera where one of his female costars is positioned.

The sequence ends and everyone starts to move about again to reset while Tom helps Peter back up off the floor. Tom hasn’t relayed the full plot to you so you are studying the nuances of the scene trying to figure out the context of the fight between the two men. Was it a love triangle? Which was fighting to protect her? Had either of them told you which was the hero and which was the villain?

You’re tempting fate, continuing to stand here to watch them during filming but you can’t seem to force your feet to carry you away. With much hesitation you make it a few steps away from the group and that much closer to the door when the director’s words make you pause. “Good. Good. Once more. This time, Tom, revel in your victory over Peter a bit after you’ve thrown him down before turning to continue on to your confrontation with Ana.”

Well you’ve no choice now but to stay and see what Tom does. You’ve moved just enough that you are viewing the sequence from a different angle, pretty much from the vantage point of the camera. Both men are probably going to be exhausted with the way they are throwing themselves into the action. Tom will probably fall right into bed tonight he is pushing so hard. The lingerie will have to wait – no horseplay tonight – though maybe you can sweet talk him into letting you give him a massage.

You are pulled from your thoughts when Tom once again throws Peter to the floor. You’ve seen so much of Tom’s work, the wide range of emotions that he can call forth, and yet the sound he lets loose in conjunction with the way he contorts his face… When he roars, when he roars you can feel it. He is still breathing heavily when he turns away from his Peter, still sprawled on the floor, to face the camera and approach it, and Ana.

His expression changes as he sees her, and then his gaze slips past her, beyond the camera, to you. 


	18. Chapter 18

You are, by some small miracle, standing out of view of the director’s chair while watching Tom’s performance. The roar that he bellows gives you shivers - the subtle shift of his shoulders as he turns away from the fallen Peter - the confident swagger as he steps towards the camera and the third actor taking part in the scene, Ana. As he moves the mixture of sweat and faux blood glisten under the lights of the soundstage. Watching Tom’s controlled heavy breathing sends a pang of longing running through you, a desire to feel that very movement of his chest, or better yet, be the reason for it. You forcibly keep yourself as still as everyone else present. With all the crew watching, all the eyes absorbing ever detail, somehow he seems to sense your presence. His eyes leave his costar and lift over her shoulder to find you standing apart from the crowd.

Your heart begins its oh-so-familiar conga within your chest. You start to scold yourself while still determinedly remaining motionless. You shouldn’t have wandered over to watch them filming, let alone stay for multiple takes. This is what happens – you end up in his direct eye line and … Now? Lordy, this is probably not what he had in mind when he asked that you stay on location. On location and on the soundstage are two very different things. Why didn't you stay in wardrobe admiring the costumes? The temptation to see Tom performing had held too strong a pull and now here you are.

When his lips part you can almost see his mouth moving to form your name. Thankfully the words that come out are apparently his lines. You allow yourself a small smile which makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in response. His gaze then slips back to its mark, to his costar Ana, and the scene continues.

As soon as the director calls cut you begin to edge further towards the exit while Tom’s attention is still on the feedback he is being given.

The director is ecstatic with what he has captured. “Yes, yes. Good. Ok. Again, but let’s get more blood. Adjust the spray. I want the…”  

Oh thank goodness you didn’t ruin the take. You have almost reached the hallway now, safety in a mere few steps. When you turn back you can see Tom surveying the moving crowd, trying to spot you again while adjustments are being made. His eyes are skittering quickly over the many people milling about. You are tempted to turn to escape down the hallway before he has the chance to spot you on the outskirts of the room but the earnest expression on his face as he searches stalls your steps.

His eyes are skipping over the tops of everyone’s heads - oh - he is trying to catch a glimpse of your hair. You can’t help but laugh at his technique. “Cheater…” you mutter under your breath.

Tom soon finds you, so far from where he saw you last. The small frown that had formed is instantly replaced with the same look that had sent your heart fluttering around in your chest a few minutes ago. Before his prolonged distraction draws the attention of too many more curious crewmembers you give him a small wave, waiting for him to return a nod before you make your exit.

You wander down the hallway to wait out the rest of the day somewhere out of sight, eventually settling on the muffled quiet of Tom’s dressing room. The question now is how to occupy yourself for the next few hours until Tom is finished and the pair of you can go home.

To delay what is sure to be a lovely phone call to Mark to tell him about the fan encounter – oh he’ll so love hearing that you’re a little more willing to talk with him about having security – you take some time to look at the memorabilia that Tom has placed about the room. It is tempting to read each letter that is in view, but then these weren’t meant for you. You quell your curiosity and focus on the fantastic artwork decorating the walls closer to the comfy looking stuffed chair. Tom’s jacket is draped over the arm of the chair and your bag is resting atop the seat cushion. You only have to shift your bag slightly to sit. The chair is large enough to swallow you, but for a man of Tom’s height it makes perfect sense.

Alright. Enough avoidance. You dig in your bag, pushing aside your newly purchased lingerie, to try to find your phone. It’s a shame you left the blueprints for your apartment back at Tom’s – that would keep you busy for hours, guaranteed. Also, it would keep you from having to make this phone call to Mark…

You release a sigh when you finally find your phone and lift it from its hiding spot in the bottom corner of your bag. Better to call and be the one to give the news to Mark rather than have him hear about Tom being chased from another source. Instead of the usual answer after a few rings you are greeted by his outgoing message. Alright – a summary in his voicemail it is then. You ramble on, circling back to admitting to the incident and having the explanation be longer than really necessary. How long can messages last these days before they are cut off? Now it is sort of a challenge. No, better not to anger him even if you’ve just admitted that he was right. Well, admitted it in so many words.

“If you’re still listening to this Mark you’re a saint and I love you and I promise that I’ll listen when I get back to LA and we talk about the whole bodyguard thing.” You glance at your watch, nearly five minutes of chatter… “Ok I’ll ah – I’ll stop now. Bye.”

There now. Required message relayed. What would you be doing now if lunch with Tom hadn’t been derailed? Most likely you would have headed back to Tom’s and spent the afternoon either in the park near his place or – who are you kidding, you’d be curled up in a chair with a book plucked from the shelves in his study. While you are sitting there your phone buzzes in your hands. Matt has sent you a few messages since you’d talked to him just this morning. Crazy thing. His panel should be done by now and he should be sleeping, not sending you texts.

_I’m hearing some interesting rumours on the Touring Sundays sequel. Can’t wait to share the gossip. Miss you terribly ______. I hope you listened this morning and threw away that magazine. –x_

You glance guiltily into your bag at the glossy cover that had sent you into such a rant while you were on the phone with him. Was that just this morning? You pluck the magazine from your bag and quickly flip it open so you don’t have to look at the annoying titular article that is plastered across the front cover. You tap a text back to Matt before delving into the magazine to satisfy your curiosity, regardless as to the wisdom of the action.

_Can’t wait to hear all the details – and I miss you also. Get some rest. Schedule a meetup when I get back stateside?_

Skipping over the main article you start to skim through the magazine, pausing when Matt’s reply comes through.

_Taking a page from your book and surviving on caffeine and stubbornness. Consider a day set aside. Laura swears the new place is excellent but I need proof. You know, make sure you have furniture etc. –x_

“Well invite yourself over why don’t you.” You roll your eyes, still smiling. You do still owe Laura drinks for wandering about the city with you while you were trying to find a place to live. Perhaps you can find a time when all three of you can get together, er – after you go furniture shopping. The place didn't come fully furnished and you’d hate for Matt to be able to hold that over you.

_You’re evil. Get sleep. Nobody wants to be in the path of a sleep deprived klutz._

He either listens or simply has fallen asleep despite his intentions to the contrary because no more messages arrive allowing you to manage to read the entire magazine, _Battle of the Brits_ article included.

_Round One's clear victor is Hiddleston. Confirmed by the pairing themselves, Hiddleston and ______ had been frequently spotted enjoying each other’s company after first evidently discovering a connection the night both of them went home with a win in their respective categories. [Go online for exclusive video clips of the show!] Separation may provide Cumberbatch and Smith with second chances. Hiddleston’s current project has him back in London while his sweetheart works alongside Cumberbatch in a yet to be titled piece. Soon after ______ will rejoin Smith in a reprise of the role that won her her first award. With ______’s star on the rise and Hiddleston in constant demand, will there be time for the young couple to build upon their relationship or will their respective careers push them apart? Ding. There’s the bell for the start of Round Two._

You stuff the magazine down beside you into the slot between the cushion of the chair and the armrest while you muse over the words you’d just read. Relationships are complicated enough without all this additional drama. 

Tapping on the dressing room door interrupts your thoughts. Is Tom done already? No – this is a crewmember. She doesn’t open the door all the way but just enough so that she can peek her head into the room. “Hi. Tom asked me to check in. He should be done in an hour, two maybe. They’re on a roll today.”

So soon? A peek at the time reveals that it is later in the day than you estimated. “That’s good. Um, thank you for letting me know.” You almost don’t get the words out before she dips her head in a small nod to you and then goes back to work.

So you have an hour to kill, or two, or more… if they’re on a roll they might just keep working until they are out of prepared scenes to shoot, or the momentum dies, whichever happens first. Rereading the magazine isn’t all that appealing so you opt to mess about on your phone until Tom appears. You tap out a few messages that are in need of replies. Your father is already asking about your plans for his birthday. You used to spend the weekend with him, as was family tradition. You didn’t make it home last year because you were filming Touring Sundays. Odds are you won’t be able to get home again this year to celebrate with him. How can you word it so that you can gently let your father down, once again? Maybe you can make it for a differently celebration – a holiday? That presents a whole other slew of problems since certain holidays are typically spent with one side of the family or the other.  

The door to the dressing room swings open to reveal Tom. His eyebrows raise when he sees the expression on your face. “Hello darling – what’s the matter?” 

You wiggle your phone at him, “Nothing, just keeping everyone up to date on the fact that I’m a horrible daughter.” Tom takes the two steps to stand next to you when you get up from the chair. His concern is evident on his face which leads to you explain further. “I’ve missed everyone’s birthdays lately. Sending a card or calling isn’t the same as what we used to do.”

“I’m sure they understand. Being away from the ones we love is hard, isn’t it?” He rubs your arms gently and leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Just let me get changed and we can go home.” He isn’t carrying any props but is still mostly in costume. When he turns to retrieve his change of clothes you can see that they’ve already removed the various prosthesis that had been applied to his skin and someone had given him a wipe to remove a bit of the faux blood and grime. He’ll still need a good scrubbing to remove the rest of it but it’s a far sight better than what he looked like on the soundstage a few hours ago. 

You’ve always loved the way men remove their shirts. To give Tom a little more room you sidestep towards the mirror and dressing table. Oh goodness watching him undress is terribly distracting. “Sorry, um… Sorry about surprising you out there. I should have just stayed in with wardrobe.” Tom is in the process of putting on his t-shirt and pauses to let out a chuckle. No – no, finish clothing yourself, then find the humor in the situation.

“Something told me to look over Ana’s shoulder and then there you were.” He continues to laugh and shake his head while pulling the shirt on. He settles down into the chair you just vacated to change back into his jeans. The action lodges the gossip magazine loose from the place where you had stuffed it and he plucks it up, glancing from the cover to you. “Did someone give you this?”

A little bit of the aggression that you’d seen on the soundstage is leaking through his overall curiosity at the presence of the magazine. “Finish changing and I’ll explain?” Tom doesn’t budge. This isn’t how you wanted to approach the topic but it will have to do. “No. Nobody gave it to me. I bought it this morning when I was walking to the park. We sort of talked about this last night, but why haven’t you talked to me about how it is plastered everywhere here?” You hold out your hand to take the magazine from him and stuff it back into your bag.

“You say that like it is a bad thing... Seeing it reminds me of you, which in turn makes me text or call.” He watches as you stuff the magazine back into your bag. “Did you read it? What did you think?”

You’re kneeling down in the floor beside the chair while you fiddle with your bag. “I think the media wants to see some sort of love triangle happen, that or have an implosion between friends.” You’re feeling much better in regards to the article now that you know that it isn’t a stress factor for Tom. Surprisingly, reading it helped too. Your imagination had gone to far worse places than what had actually been written.

“You don’t have to worry about any implosions. Ben and I had lengthy conversations about it while we were trying to get Matt to introduce us to you. Now… about a threesome….”

You roll your eyes and tap Tom’s leg, “Dear Lord. That is _not_ what I said. Will you just get changed so we can go home?”

Once again Tom again doesn't move. This time instead of a stubborn frown the expression on his face is absolute delight. "As you wish, darling. Just keep calling it  _home_."


	19. Chapter 19

The same two security guards that had picked you up from the restaurant are the ones to take the pair of you to Tom’s. Tom lags behind you on the walk up to his door while he chats with the guards. You use the time to pull the key that Tom had given you out of your pocket. A thrill runs through you as you flip the key around in your fingers, impatient to get to use it again. You cast a glance at the two men standing behind Tom, patiently waiting to see the pair of you safely enter his place. You reach out to softly run a finger down Tom’s spine which makes him stutter slightly through his words and eliciting chuckles from both guards.

“I’m going in. Thank you for rescuing us today guys.” You inch your bag from Tom’s shoulder and head for the door. You wait for a moment in the main room but Tom remains out in the hallway. He is probably apologizing for the necessity of them driving him home. You walk down the hall to the guestroom to deposit your bag and plug in your phone to charge.

“______?” You can hear Tom calling your name as he tries to search you out.

“I’m in here - just plugging in my phone. I’m – oh –” You finish fiddling with the cord and head back out into the hallway to walk right into Tom. He immediately reacts to catch you but it doesn’t stop the forward motion since you were hurrying to rejoin him. You further attempt to steady yourself by throwing your hands out and bracing against him while sidestepping towards the wall to use up your momentum. You tap your hands on his chest once after you find your footing, laughing a bit at yourself. “Hah, hello. Finished talking with them I see.”

Tom nods, “They wanted to review what time to pick us up tomorrow.”

“I thought they were just supposed to take you back and forth to the set.” The news makes you raise your eyebrows and then frown. Either Tom was more concerned about the fan encounter that he had today than he previously led you to believe, or he got more tangled up with the fans than he has admitted.

“It won’t be the intimate exploration of the city that I had in mind but if it means that we can enjoy each other’s company a bit more while you’re here so be it.” He kisses your forehead to smooth away the furrows formed by your frown. “It’s nothing to worry about, no need to frown. Hmmm what time is it - are you hungry? I noticed you took the extra food out to share with everyone.”

You wiggle within his grasp and break free to head towards the main room and the kitchen. “I suppose I could eat. Here or?” You glance to see if he is following you or is continuing on his path to his room. If security is required to tour the pair of you around now he’ll need to call the guys back. Best to do that before they get too far away from his place.

“Let’s see if there’s anything that interests you in the kitchen.”

He’s probably making a face at you to coincide with the emphasis he placed on that comment. You look back to check - Yep. You return your attention to the direction you are walking to make sure you aren’t going to walk into the doorframe. You aren’t yet familiar enough with the layout of his place to confidently walk blindly from room to room. After entering the kitchen you pause to ponder your next move. When you had been searching for the coffee this morning you’d seen what he had stocked in the cabinets. You remember seeing rice, crackers, and a few canned goods. What did Tom have in mind to make for the meal from that hodgepodge? You’ve halfway blocked Tom’s access to the kitchen. Instead of walking around you he wraps you up in his arms to walk-lead you further into the room before releasing you again. You lean against the kitchen table to watch him walk around the kitchen peeking into the cabinets.

“I’ve got um…” He reviews the choices in the refrigerator while thinking aloud. After a brief survey of the items held within Tom closes the door to the refrigerator again to shrug at you, “Um… ok I’m embarrassed. Not a lot. We can always order in, or – maybe pop out and bring something back? Watch a movie?”

“Whatever you’d like to do. Even if we’re just going to bring something back, do you want to get showered first?” You motion to some of the now flaking faux blood still stuck to him.

Tom smirks and moves back across the room towards you. “I recall someone promising to help me with that.”

Shaking your head, you reach out to scratch a flake of red from his neck. “I said ask and I _might_ help.”

He slides his arms around your waist, the pressure of his hands pushing you forward to close the gap between your bodies. He licks his lips before muttering with an accompanying smirk, “Might?”

“And I thought you were hungry.” You drape your arms up over his shoulders. He’s been running full force all day, quite literally actually, and is now devoting his full attention to entertaining you rather than showing any signs of exhaustion.

Damn you are going to miss being around him when you go back to Los Angeles. No, no, stop that. Don’t think about that now. Enjoy the moment.

“You’re the one that brought up showering. Reminded me of your earlier comment. And to answer your question, I am hungry – for so many more things than just food.”

Is he trying to make you jump him here in the kitchen? And _thank you, Captain Obvious_ – he is squeezing you against him after all. “Yes. _Trust me_ , I am very much aware of that.” You really do need to get food into him before you get too sidetracked. It takes a minute to disentangle yourself from his grasp. “Alright. Focus. Are you going to call the guys back or are we having pasta and...”

Tom hems for a moment. “We could pop to the store and pick up something to go with the pasta…” Before he can settle you with a look that evaporates the last of your willpower you twirl to go grab your bag from the guestroom. Shame you put it down in there before, it would have saved the extra steps. “Er darling, the door is the other direction.”

You laugh over your shoulder, “I know that. Getting my bag? Keys, phone, money?”

“What? Leave it. Stop. Turn around.” You can hear the keys in his pocket jingle as he jogs to catch you in the hallway.

He grabs ahold of your hand before you reach the guestroom and leads you back towards the front door with you sighing complaints the entire way. “Really Tom you can’t keep paying for everything. This is getting ridiculous. Look I – let me at least get my phone.”

“Nope.” He only releases you once he has you standing outside and he needs to shut and lock the door.

“Ugh. Tom, you’re being impossible.”

He grins before taking your hand in his again. “You say that and all I hear is adorable and charming.” When you scoff he brings your hand up to hold it against his chest and pull your gaze, “I’ll make you a deal. The next time we see each other you can pay.”

You are careful to keep your expression doubtful. “The next time. Deal?” As soon as he nods confirmation you allow your smile to break through, “Excellent. No complaints tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What? No, _____, I meant the next time one of us visited the other. Oh you’re not letting me out of this are you…” He looks physically pained for a moment before shaking the look from his face and laughing. “So very stubborn.”

You wink at him before replying, “You say stubborn and all I hear is – ”

Tom doesn’t let you get any of the descriptors out, silencing the words by pulling you close to kiss you. He repeats his statement as punctuation when you break off for air. “So. Very. Stubborn.”

It takes you a second to find words to respond, pointing between the two of you as you speak. “Pot. Kettle.”

Tom wasn’t kidding when he said that it wouldn’t take long to get to the store and return home. After dinner you start to wash the dishes and pans that Tom had placed in the soapy water in the sink while he buses the table.

After a dish or two you notice that he has settled against the counter beside you. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

You look at your own hands submerged in the warm water and then look to his empty hands resting lightly on the counter before looking skeptically at him. “Funny, that’s what I thought _I_ was doing.”

Tom replies, “Oh. I see the confusion.” He moves to be standing behind you at the sink, wraps his arms around you, and reaches into the sink to grab a dish.

You flick water at him over your shoulder with your fingertips. “Point taken. You could just stand beside me so we can get these clean faster.”

“Mmhmm, but then I can see it when you stick the tip of your tongue between those lovely lips when you’re concentrating… and that leads to this…” He bends to nip lightly at your neck.

“Ok that _really_ isn’t helping get these dishes clean.”

He ignores your comment and continues his attention to your neckline. Soon you’ve abandoned all pretense of washing the dishes, as has Tom. He’s using one hand to balance on the counter while the other helps to press your body back into his. He had initially placed his hand somewhere around your hip bone but it has traveled inward. The action of his fingertips finally pressing between your legs, even though layers of fabric still stand in his way, draws a moan from you.

Tom’s movement cease for a fraction of a second before he growls in your ear. “Oh screw the dishes.”


	20. Chapter 20

The ever so light friction of fingertip to skin pulls you from your dream. Beneath the bed sheet Tom is feathering his fingertips over the skin of your stomach. You were dreaming about the events of the previous day – seeing Tom dashing up the sidewalk towards you with a mass of people in pursuit – but in your dream the pair of you had continued running through London in a giant game of cat and mouse. Was it the dream or the night’s activities that left you now craving just a few more minutes of sleep? You smile as you roll onto your side to look at the man you are sharing a bed with and receive a contented smile in return. Tom murmurs a soft apology as he rests his hand on your naked hip. “I’m sorry - I couldn’t resist.”

You stretch a bit to try to push the last remnants of sleep aside. Tom takes advantage of the motion to pull your body closer towards his. “Tom…” You laugh as he slides his hand briefly up your back before trailing it down over the curve of your bottom. As Tom’s hand reaches your thigh you lift your leg and, with his hand following your movement, you drape it over his body. This playfulness is a wonderful distraction from analyzing the meaning of your dream.

Tom emits a low growl when you push yourself off the bed and try to evenly disperse your weight onto your legs as you settle on top of him. As promised, last night you had helped him wash away the surprisingly stubborn remnants of the day’s work before stumbling into bed. You probably have fabulous morning hair as a result of going to bed with it still wet. You lean down to gently kiss his collar bone before sitting up again and frowning at him, belatedly registering the subtle differences in decor. You are in his room, not the guest bedroom. And then another thought occurs. “Oh damn, you didn’t get to see the lingerie I bought yesterday…”

Well there is no time like the present. You shift to sit back onto the bed so you can, hopefully with a little grace, retrieve your bag and the items in question from the other room. Tom sits up in bed, holding the sheet in place rather than letting you pull it with you. His laugh makes the mattress vibrate. “The logical conclusion to that statement being to get up just when things are getting interesting.”

You hesitate but his holding the sheet hostage will not prevent you from leaving the bed now that you’ve gotten it into your head to model the pieces for him. You can feel him watching you as you head for the door and add some extra sway to your walk for his benefit. “You grumble now, sir. Just you wait.”

“Why don’t you just bring your things in here? My bed is more comfortable.”

“Technically aren’t they both yours? Why didn’t you just buy two sets of the same – oh…” The flashing light on your phone draws your eye as you walk into the guest bedroom. You let out an uneasy laugh when you unlock your phone to scroll through the missed call list. You’re half talking to Tom, half talking to yourself now. “Mark called. Aaaand left a few messages. He’s glad to hear that you’re ok.” After skimming the first text you drop the phone onto the bed so you can kneel and pull some clothes from your luggage. Mark has sent a series of messages and it doesn’t make sense to sit there and read them in the nude. Once clothed, you sit cross legged on the bed to delve further into the responses Mark has sent you.

You glance sideways at Tom when he sits on the bed beside you, making you bounce slightly with the force with which he drops onto the mattress. He, too, has donned clothes -- a t-shirt and a pair of sports shorts that sit dangerously low on his hips. You take in the sight of him, tempted to let Mark’s messages remain unread for a little while longer.

Tom cocks a curious eyebrow at you, “That I’m ok? Did you actually talk to him or just leave a message?” He tilts the phone in your hands so that he can see the screen. Now both eyebrows are raised. “That answers that. It is early enough – you could call him before our run.”

You scroll on to the next message, reading it quickly. “Let me get through the texts first and see if it's necessary. Hmm he is a big fan of having security accompanying us today. A _whole booklet_ devoted to praising that idea. Reading between the lines here that means he already has several packets made up for me to look at regarding personal security. What fun that discussion will be… Oooh a few offers for commercials…”

Tom remains idle on the bed while you read the next message, then gets up and retrieves both your day bag and luggage and disappears from the room. He calls out to you. “Where is that lingerie that you wanted me to see?”

“Mmm, should still be in my day bag. It might be buried beneath a few things now…” You’re still wading through the messages from Mark. You drop the phone into your lap when you see Tom walk back into the room holding the grey piece up against his body. You hold out your hand to take the lacy lingerie from him which he relinquishes with a grin.

“You know you have a rolled up LA newspaper in that bag too?”

“Why am I not surprised that you chose the grey one? And yes – I’ll remember to throw it away at some point. Sorry I’m taking so long on the phone. It would take even longer if I had called him…”

Tom responds with a half shrug. “Necessary. I’ll start breakfast and call to give them time to meet us out front for the run. Join me in the kitchen when you’re done.”

At the mention of food you nod, “Oh I’m done. And if I grab some shoes and...” You look to the space where up until a few minutes ago your luggage had resided.

“As I said, join me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

After retrieving socks, shoes – and a bra – you duck into Tom’s bathroom to peek at yourself in the mirror. Well, you’re just going for a run… If another attempt at pulling your hair up doesn’t fix the wild state of your bedhead then surely a hat will solve the problem. When you walk into the kitchen Tom is holding a spatula out to his side and is bent over the counter writing something. You walk up beside him, turning your head to try to read what he is writing but his hand is in the way. That doesn’t matter much though because has noticed your entrance and slides the paper to you after dropping the pen back onto the counter. He has written out a few lines that are vaguely familiar to you – probably Shakespeare knowing Tom. “Er, what’s this?”

“A sonnet.”

You smile, though you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. “Smartass.” You flip the paper over to see that the scrap is actually the receipt from the grocery purchases last night.

“Inspiration struck and that was the only paper I could find without abandoning the omelets.”

He pours so much into every character he takes on it is no wonder that every performance is so arresting. Admittedly you are slightly biased on the matter. You hold the paper out to give it back to him, “Such devotion. Way to make me feel lazy for keeping Em tucked away in her corner.”

Tom quirks his eyebrows in amusement and shakes his head, “No darling, that’s for you.”

Darling. That word will forevermore sound wrong tumbling from anyone’s lips but his. 

“Oh.” You plant a kiss on Tom’s cheek, blushing after rereading the lines. This receipt is definitely going back to LA with you. You spin to exit the kitchen again, intent on tucking the paper into a safe place in your bag.

He pauses in plating the omelets, “Aaand breakfast is served… where are you off to?”

You grin and hold the receipt between two fingers while still walking from the room. You speak up so that he can hear you as you walk down the hall. “I’ll just be a minute. Putting this away for safe keeping.”

Tom has placed your day bag on his dresser. You consider for a moment where you want to put the sonnet – stashed in with the floor plans to your new apartment? It might slip out though… In your wallet will work, the receipt is small enough that you won’t have to fold it over. There is a little more room in your bag now that Tom has removed the lingerie. There’s the newspaper, a few random pens… where is your wallet? Dear Lord, did you leave it in one of the stores when you were shopping yesterday? Fuck. Surely someone would have called to tell you they found it. Had you missed something when scrolling through all the items from Mark? Wait – your wallet had been in there last night when you had dug out your phone to plug it in to charge.

Oh. Ok, you’re going to kill him. You walk back out into the kitchen and place your hands on your hips. “Tom. Where is my wallet?”

He looks spooked by your tone at first and then smiles at you triumphantly. “I put it away for safe keeping.”

“Oh for the love of – really Tom? You nearly gave me a heart attack. I’m still trying to find the last thing I lost.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. He meant well. He certainly went about it the wrong way, but he meant well.

“Your heart?”

His quip makes you smile and release a slow breath. Oh damn. You want to hold on to your irritation with him as long as possible but you are rapidly losing ground. “I – no. Don’t say things like that when I’m trying to be angry.”

He knows he has won, now. “The opportunity was too good to pass up. You’ll get your wallet back - _after_ I take you out to dinner.” You settle into your seat at the table next to him. You’ll figure something out. He’ll have to relent and let you win the battle of paying the check eventually.

You sigh. "Fine. So stubborn."

"Pot."

"Kettle." 

The pair of you have just enough time to eat and clean up the kitchen – including the dishes from last night – before the buzzer alerts you to the arrival of your companions for the day.

The crisp outside air gives you goose bumps. You consider turning about to grab some long sleeves to ward off the chill but running will warm you up soon enough. Both of the guards are wearing wind breakers with the logo of the security company embroidered into the front.

Bruce, the thinner of the two, smiles when you start bouncing on the balls of your feet. “Looks like someone is ready to dust the lot of us. We should get going – s’pposed to rain today.”

Tom casts a dismayed look at Bruce. “What?” The four of you start off in a light jog towards the park. “My goal to take you to a few of the more romantic locations today might need to be altered. Sightseeing in the rain…”

The steady footfall of the two men at your back is surprisingly comforting. "Can still be fun.”

Once in the park Bruce moves up to run alongside you and Tom, with John remaining behind the group for a different vantage point. All three of the men are taller than you leaving you to feel as though you’re taking several steps to every one of theirs. Your little group completes the first full lap of the park and pauses to stretch out various tight muscles before making another loop.

“Felt like you were sprinting on that last straightaway ______.” Bruce is grumbling a bit from his position off to your left.

You are in the middle of stretching out your hamstrings and look up to find Tom standing on one leg to stretch out his quads, trying ever so hard to keep his balance while chuckling at Bruce’s observation.

You aim for an air of innocence. “Oh?”

Tom lets out a full laugh and nods from you to Bruce, “See that expression? If she wasn’t doing it on purpose before you can bet she’s going to now.” 

“Great. When’sit supposed to start raining?” Bruce looks to his partner for an answer. Evidently John was the source of the weather report this morning.

John had been watching another group of early morning runners rather than stretching. He glances at his watch before responding, “Soon. Everybody ready to keep moving?”

During the second lap you and Tom take turns speeding up the pace and racing a bit before slowing the group down again. You are hesitant to keep it up at first but John and Bruce seem to enjoy the friendly competition, even if it makes their jobs a little harder. It starts to drizzle during the third lap, making you regret not going back inside to grab something with sleeves. It isn’t even a spoken decision, everyone just makes the turn to exit the park when the opportunity presents itself.

With the added pedestrian traffic as the city starts to build momentum for the day you section off into groups of two again. Without the protective cover of trees the smattering of rain is more noticeable, even with Tom shielding you slightly by throwing his arm over your shoulders. You spot someone walking in the opposite direction who is holding a cup of steaming liquid. “Oooh that looks good. If only a stubborn someone hadn't hidden my wallet this morning.”

Tom laughs and squeezes your shoulder. “You’re going to bring that up as much as you can aren’t you.”

“Of course.”

"Of course, she says. What would you like?" He glances over his shoulder, trusting you to prevent him from running headlong into someone or something. "Bruce? John? Care for anything?"

John answers for the both of them. "We're fine. Once we get you back to Tom's, will the pair of you _stay put_ for half an hour so we can change as well? It may be a company car but it eats up gas, mileage, and time if you force us to tag team." 

The emphasis John puts on staying put makes you blink. Ah, so your adventure to the grocery store last night hadn't gone unnoticed.

Bruce speaks up before any explanations are offered. “As fun as we are to hang around, John, I think they’ll be fine without us for half an hour. ‘Sides, someone has to be there to critique your driving.”

They make a good team, Bruce and John. Bruce’s outgoing personality is restrained just enough by John’s quiet manner and you learn to watch for John’s half-smile, signaling his amusement. Having them around for the rest of the week will be easy. Knowing that Tom will have one or both of them watching his back for the remainder of the project helps to unwind the knot of worry that had started to form. 


	21. Chapter 21

The week has passed far too quickly. When Tom shifts to begin to extract himself from the bed you lift your head from the pillow to watch him sit up. You had spent your last night in London content to merely sleep beside him. Every time one of you shifted in the night the other would reestablish contact with the slightest movement of an arm or leg. He takes a breath and murmurs to you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

Like hell. Your flight out isn’t until midmorning and scheduling won’t permit Tom to see you to the airport. With certain indoor scenes finished, production has moved on to work in the select outdoor locations that are needed and there is a limited window of time for them to get everything shot. The bed shifts when he stands and starts towards the bathroom.

Just because you’d said your goodbyes last night doesn’t mean you’re willing to let him leave this morning without interacting with you. You stifle a yawn unsuccessfully, “Mmmmnope. Hang on….” You reach over to turn on the bedside light so he won’t stumble in the darkness. Tom stops his progress across the room to give you a curious look. You grin at him. “Ok, keep going.”

He almost turns back to the bed but he merely laughs – that full-body burst of laughter that you adore – and walks into the bathroom. His reply echoes around the tiled room, “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

While Tom showers you kick off the sheet and retrieve your phone to check in for your flight and make sure Mark knows the flight details. You drop the phone onto the bed beside you and lay back to stare at the ceiling. You had delayed taking on the next project for so long that the change of pace will surely take some getting used to. Mark now has several things lined up, commercials, interviews, and appearances, in addition to the movie you’ll be jumping into immediately upon your return to California.

You flick your eyes towards the bathroom before tracking them back to the ceiling. The next time one of you visits the other it needed to be a planned holiday.

After the mostly-rainy day touring around London you had spent the majority of the remaining days with one or the other of Tom’s new two-man security team. Tom, ever the romantic, had gotten into the habit of leaving you notes around his place for you to find throughout the day. Upon prying, he revealed that he had been writing them during his down time. How he had found time to them hide them from you once he got home was a secret he refused to reveal.

The water shuts off and you open your eyes to watch Tom reemerge from the bathroom with a towel clutched around his waist. He plucks up a choice few pieces of clothing to change into and seats himself at the foot of the bed to get dressed. He reaches back to find your foot and gives it a playful tug between putting on his underwear and pulling on a pair of jeans. “I can feel you watching my every move.”

You nudge him in the back with the foot he doesn’t hold hostage. “You’ll have the place to yourself again soon enough.”

Tom stops getting dressed, turning halfway around so he is looking at you. “I’m going to miss having you here.”

“And I’ll miss being here but…” Your heart skips when he pulls you down the bed towards him. The chill to his skin makes you jump. “God Tom, you’re freezing!” You pull yourself up into the sitting position to flatten the palm of your hand against his bare back.

“Cold shower to help me wake up.” He chuckles at the face you make in response, “You’re not a fan of those, I know. Sometimes, though, they’re necessary.” After a moment’s pause he blinks himself free of his thoughts and releases your ankle. “And if I don’t get up and out of arm’s reach right now I won’t be ready when Bruce arrives.”

You grin and scoot back to the center of the bed as he stands. You wait until he has pulled his shirt over his head to speak again. “Are you sure about today? I am the master of taking quick showers.”

He shakes his head while putting on his watch. “Total transit time if you went with me would be pushing it – if we got stuck in traffic on the way there or during your ride back into the city Mark would... Just stay here and relax until you need to head to the airport.” He sits back at the end of the bed to attend to putting on his socks and shoes. “Everything packed?”

“Yep. Just need to shower and change. I checked in to the flight while you were in the shower… now it’s just a matter of waiting to go back to reality.” While his back is turned you scoot yourself to the side of the bed, thankful he isn’t watching your less than graceful movements. Really though, how does one move across a king sized bed without looking ridiculous?

Tom stretches as he stands. “Er, well our version of reality anyway.” He is stalling leaving the bedroom so you stand to follow him towards the door. “You’ll let me know when John gets you to the airport? He and Bruce were having a competition yesterday to see who would get to take you. It seems sitting around a set with me is less interesting than being in your company.”

You roll your eyes at him. “You, the crew, and swordplay – or me. I think you win hands down. But, if John doesn’t beat me to it, I will text you.”

“Repetition and lots of waiting versus adventures with you.” He stops short in the main room, turning back to look down at you with a gentle smile. “I hope you had a good time, even if it sometimes wasn’t with me.”

“I got to spend more time with you than I thought I would when I booked the trip. I – thank you for letting me stay with you.” You manage to keep your mouth from rambling on though your brain continues to send a stream of thanks. Thank you for staying up late to entertain me after working each day. Thank you for caring. Thank you for being your charming, lovable, goofy, stubborn self.   

“Of course darling.” He wraps his arms around you to pull you close, “Next time, we should go somewhere warm and secluded.”

“Alright.” You can feel Tom’s phone vibrating in his pocket.

Tom retrieves the phone to read out the text, “Bruce is here.” He pockets his phone again but doesn’t move for the door. Instead he wraps his arm back around you. “Maybe I’d find it easier to walk out the door if you were still going to be here when I got home – or if you weren’t still in pyjamas.”

You tilt your head back to wink at him, “I could very easily _not_ be in pyjamas.”

“Not. Helpful.”

“Sorry.” Not really. He can see that in the way you’re smiling right now.

When he leans in to kiss you his phone vibrates again. He laughs into your lips when his phone goes off a third time. “Alright. Alright.” He gives your hand a light squeeze as he steps away from you towards the door, “Before he storms up here… Call me when you land? And tell Benedict and Mark hello for me.”

“I – of course I will.” Tom’s phone is now ringing. You laugh and shake your head, “Now go. That’s probably his last warning.” You stand in the middle of the room after Tom shuts the door, taking in the silence. There is enough time before John will arrive for you to lay back down, maybe get some sleep if your nerves would settle enough for that to happen. Nope. That leaves getting ready for the day and then figuring out what to do with yourself until it is time to head to the airport. Yesterday you had washed the sheets and remade the bed in the guest bedroom, you might as well do the same for Tom’s room. Then you’ll see where you stand for time.

The buzz alerting you to John’s arrival startles you just as you are finishing transferring your bags out into the main room. A quick check of the time tells you that he is here exactly when he was supposed to be, you’ve just spent more time trying to memorize every little detail of Tom’s place than you had planned. You are surprised when he holds up the lidded cup in offering, “Coffee?”

You have a long plane ride ahead of you, there is no way you are refusing the caffeine. “Where’s yours?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, “It’s in the car. Ready to go ______?”

As you take a sip of the coffee he snags both of your bags, accompanying the action with a stern look at you that speaks volumes; don’t try to pry your bags from his hands, just let him carry everything. You take one last look around the place before walking over the threshold and shutting the door behind you, your mini-vacation ending with the metal clang of the mechanism locking into place.

“Hmm, we didn’t talk about this…” You stare down at the key in your hand. Tom hadn’t asked for it back, knowing that you would need to let yourself out. It wouldn’t do you much good on another continent though.

John walks alongside you on the way to the car, “What? The key?”

You flip it around in your fingers, taking another sip of coffee while you think. “Yep. Are you headed back there after dropping me off? Will you take it to him?”

He laughs. John, the man who you have yet to see actually fully smile, laughs. “He’dve asked if he wanted it back.” You bite the inside of your cheek, still uncertain. “Ask. I’ll get it to him for you.”  

In your distraction over the key you stutter step towards the driver’s side door before remembering where you are and walking to the other side of the car. John, bless him, doesn’t comment.

_Tom do you want John to bring you the house key? I can’t believe I didn’t think about that until now._

Tom’s response doesn’t come through until you’re almost to the airport. He must be on location already.

_It’s yours darling, but if you want to give it back I understand._

John glances away from the traffic. “_____? Well? What’s the verdict?”

You open your mouth, close it, and then type out a response as you reply to John. “He um, says it’s mine.”

_What about when company comes to visit? Won’t you need it for them?_

You look over to see John’s self-satisfied twinkle in his eyes. You let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh shut up, you were right.”

_I stand by my reply. The key is yours to do with what you will. Are you at the airport yet?_

_Nearly. I’ll let you know once I’m on the plane._

The flight can now be full of turbulence and screaming children and it won’t change your mood. You have a key to Tom’s place. You’ll put it on the keychain with the keys to your new place – as soon as you get those from Mark. The same silly grin will probably grace your lips every time you see his key amongst yours.

John doesn’t pull alongside the terminal to drop you off but steers the car in the direction of the short term parking lot. He shakes his head at you. “You’ll not be getting rid of me till you’re through Customs and I can hand you off to airport security. I’ve got my marching orders.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll be fine once we check in my luggage.” You grab both empty coffee cups from the car to throw away once you find a trashcan. John just grunts in reply. He does let you carry your shoulder bag this time, a minor win. He stays right beside you, just off your shoulder, as you walk into the building and is quick to steer you in the right direction, though you could have asked for directions from any one of the airport employees. Nobody seems to be looking at you twice.

The goodbye is a little awkward – do you hug him, shake his hand? John gives you a stiff half-hug before nodding to the security agent that is going to walk with you the rest of the way. The wait for the plane leaves you plenty of time for a light snack and additional cups of caffeine. You’ll get as much sleep as you can on the plane but you’ll be arriving to the start of the day, Los Angeles time. Another bright and sunny day… you’ll head straight to the hotel and sleep until Mark rouses you.

Once settling into your seat you let Tom know of your whereabouts, as promised. After the plane takes off you once again pull your apartment floor plans out of your bag to try to entertain yourself. You scribble details to yourself along the sides of the pages, marking through uninspired plans only to change your mind and rewrite the words. What you need are color palettes for the walls and decor, which causes you to pull your phone back out. Neutral tones or vibrant colors… maybe neutral with a splash of color as accents. You’re not really in the right mindset to make any decisions. Aside from jotting down a few notes as to which colors would be in certain rooms you can’t think of much else to play around with. Restless, you replace everything bag in your bag.

You’re drawing irritated looks from your travel companions. “Sorry. Wired from too much coffee.” You shrug.

There’s always the newspaper, an option which doesn’t make _any_ noise at all… But you carried it overseas and back you might as well read it. It is all old news now but maybe the written word will hold your attention. As you carefully unroll the paper you notice writing covering the words to one of the articles on the front page. Below the fold is an article with a photo of you beside it. After studying the photo, an old shot from Touring Sundays, you mutter the words aloud as you lean to examine the writing that partially obscures the article talking about your career.

“ _And it must follow, as the night the day,/ Thou canst not then be false to any man._ ”

It’s Hamlet – the lines that follow the phrase that is inscribed on your still missing bracelet. It’s a curious thing to write, but Tom had been writing sweet, sappy, odd, funny things to you all week.

You pull out your phone to text him and frown. The battery is already partially drained. You’ve been messing about with it all morning. Where had you packed the charger? In your luggage… well you’ll just have to use it sparingly until you get back to the hotel. You tap out a message to Tom and copy Mark on it as well.

_Flight is going well. A bit too much coffee but other than that… I’ll be back in LA before you know it._

All but one of the other passengers in the immediate vicinity are resting but all you can manage is to be slightly less fidgety. You did just sleep while at Tom’s. Yay! Your body gets to argue with you over the time zone jump again.

When you get the keys from Mark you also need to pick up all your mail. There’s probably so much to be gone through – bills and personal mail alike – that you’ll be wading through it until filming starts. You need to meet with Benedict to further develop a rapport. Jack and Emily have an incredible written relationship that you need to portray for the camera. You can’t wait to get to know Benedict better. Tom speaks so highly of him.

You are once again faced with acting opposite an actor whose talent leaves you slack jawed. It’ll be just like Touring Sundays, you reason – and that worked out rather well since you’re good friends with both Matt and Andrew.

Someone nearby is talking quietly into their phone. You close your eyes to listen to their words, well more the accent than what they’re actually saying. Oh you’re really going to miss London – miss Tom. John will have rejoined him by now, surely. He’s probably smugly relaying the whole conversation regarding the key. The key – you have a key to Tom’s place. The speaker concludes their call leaving the steady rhythm of everyone else breathing all that you can hear over the engines of the plane.

You’ll just have to sit and listen to your music for the rest of the flight. Maybe something slower will quiet your thoughts. Thank goodness you have so much music you don’t have to repeat playlists.

You jerk slightly when someone gently touches your arm. You remove an earbud to hear the attendant addressing you. “Miss? We’ll be descending to land soon.”

Nodding, you stretch in your seat. It feels good to move around a bit. You’ve gotten stiff in your zoned out state. You switch your playlist to something upbeat and entertain yourself for the last minutes to the ride by watching the other passengers scrambling to tidy up all their belongings.  

As the herd of people heads toward baggage claim you pause to purchase and down a cup of espresso and then find a bathroom. You keep to yourself at baggage claim, the ear buds and sunglasses providing a buffer between you and the other passengers. There are a few people snapping pictures of you, or maybe they’re just holding the phone at an odd angle to text someone. You don’t remove your headphones again until you’re safely in a taxi with your bags and headed to the hotel. 

You stop by the reception desk to chat a bit with the clerks behind the counter. They don’t immediately recognize you, which makes you laugh. You’ve only been away for a few days. You start to go up to your room but change your route at the last minute. What are you going to do in your room but sit there and wait impatiently for Mark to arrive? Yes, the weight room is an excellent choice to work out some of this weird wired energy. You grab some running shorts from your luggage and quickly change before dumping your bags against the sidewall of the weight room.

Back to listening to music then – you select an upbeat playlist and hop on one of the treadmills. After a while you tune the music out in favor of concentrating on your breathing as you push your body. You’ve focused so intently on your workout that you don’t notice the two security guards until after they’ve entered the room and slammed the door behind them. They’re talking both to you and into their radios all at once. Removing your headphones and pressing the button to slow down the machine you slow to a walk, then dismount.

“Sorry, what was that? Music was up.”

“We’ve got her. Weight room.” One is speaking into his radio and turning to scan the room.

The other speaks to you. “You didn’t answer your phone. Reception said you were on the premises.”

Ok. That wasn’t an explanation. Your adrenaline high from running is making it difficult to process the garble you are hearing on their radio. “My phone is in my bag…” you glance at the far wall where your belongings sit, “And like I said, my music was up. What’s going on?”

The first guard listens and responds to his radio, “Right. Staying put.” Both men look to each other, around the room again, and then to you. “You’ve been here all morning. By yourself?”

You nod. Something was going on and they had been looking for you. “Yes, um, yes. Look can one of you tell me what’s up?”

The second guard is studying you, “Hair’s different. And the machine made it so her back was to the door.”

“Yep.”

You look at both of them in turn, “Guys. Standing right here. What--”

Eddie bursts into the room, throwing the door open with such force that you jump. You note that both the guards that you had been talking to had turned in unison and jumped to block the path between you and the doorway. Eddie is followed into the room by yet another of his security team.

“Eddie? You’ve been running, too, I see. What’s going on?” You attempt to keep the mood light, but the relief you see on Eddie’s face right now makes your nerves jump.

Eddie gives low orders to his staff standing before him. “You call Mark and let him know what’s going on. She’s fine. _Make sure_ to be clear on that. And the police are already on their way. And she’s fine.” One guard leaves and Eddie turns to the two men still blocking the path between you, Eddie, and the door. “You two stand outside that door so I can explain the situation.” He waits until they leave to blow out a breath. Shaking his head he half-laughs out the words, “No incidents, you’re gone for a week, and then the day you return to move out I have a near heart attack.” You walk over to your bag to dig out your phone. It’s off – the battery has completely died. Why didn’t you think about that after getting back to the hotel? “There will be security at your new place, right? Maybe a gated community?”

“It’s got security, why?”

“I knew you were going to be back sometime today so I – well no, backing up a bit. Mark had been by earlier in the week to look for something? You didn’t tell me you’d lost some jewelry. Mark gave us a description so the staff now has an eye out for it.” He waves his hand, irritated that he’s distracted himself. “Not the point. Someone must have made duplicates of our security cards and gained access to the floors of the hotel. Caused a bit of damage.”

Eddie is flustered and angry and you still aren’t sure why hotel security burst in on your workout session and all the looks of concern. Some people broke into the hotel and destroyed property? O….k…. Both you and Eddie turn at a sharp knock on the door to see several members of the LAPD enter the room.

My, that was quick. What exactly had been going on and how long had it been happening? You stand apart while Eddie introduces himself by his full name and title, even showing his ID badge to the man you decide to be the officer in charge. The man then focuses his attention on you. “This is Ms. _______? Ma’am you are entitled to press charges if you would like.”

Wait, what?

Eddie is visibly bristling. “We only just located her. She’s been down here since arriving on the premises – she said hasn’t been up yet - I haven’t even gotten through explaining the situation to her.”

The officer does a half turn towards the door. Everybody stands there for a moment before he looks at you expectantly, “Ma’am?”

The hallway and other rooms leading up to your room are untouched.

This was why Eddie had asked if your new place would have security.

Your room had been the target.

 _You_ had been the target.

Upon seeing your room you find the only word that comes to mind is: “Oh.” 

Eddie is talking to you but you don’t really hear him. “We got word that Mark wanted to have your things moved over to the new place so you’d have less to worry about today. I didn’t think anything of it until I was talking to the front desk just now and they said you were excited about moving everything. If it was a surprise, I found it curious that you hadn’t come back down from your room to ask where your things were...”

It is some small miracle that you’d locked away all the scripts in the room’s safe before leaving the country.

You are gradually aware that Mark is somewhere nearby as you can hear him shouting. Your curiosity breaks the spell of the shock of the state of your room, allowing you to turn to see what the fight is about.

"... assured us of her safety and then these, these people - break in and - what if she had come up here instead of staying downstairs? Look at the state of this place!" 

"All protocols were followed as soon as security was alerted." Eddie is trying not to yell in return, mostly successfully. 

Mark scoffs, "Protocols. You're just lucky she likes to exercise. As soon as we are done with statements we are leaving.”

He goes on but you tune out his angry words. You can't do much about the loss of your things, and right now you don't even want to think about what it would have been like to walk into your room to find it like this. If you had walked in on strangers tearing apart your room? Your skin starts to crawl.

Mark is still yelling. You can feel your own anger building. Why was Mark forgetting that Eddie and his team had done a wonderful job watching out for you since the moment you checked in? Hell, before the awards show you were virtually an unknown actress with a single movie to her name. “Mark. Stop!”

Every head turns to you. Mark looks like he might choke. “______, I’ve got the keys to your apartment _on_ me. There is no need to stay here.”

“Just stop. I’ll take the keys but I don’t have anything set up there. Look, Mark, I’m staying here tonight, if Eddie and the hotel will still let me. Like you said, there is paperwork… and whenever they’re… well, done with the room, I’d like to salvage what I can. In the morning we’ll just… go from there.” You’re trying not to look back into the room at the ripped, torn and shattered things that used to belong to you.

What can you even save out of all of that?

What a way to end a week. By the time you’re finished with the police and have been escorted by entirely too many people to your new room -- really how many people does it take to carry your luggage and the contents of the room’s safe to another location – it is after 6 in the afternoon and you’re dying for a shower and sleep.

Realizing that all you own now has traveled with you to London and back lodges loose a long string of curses.

Property damage. It’s a funny way to refer to the loss of all of your possessions. 

You keep looking back at the list of items that they had you make. When taken out of context, each item is just another random something that you’ve accumulated. Associated with a memory – item 45 was no longer just a dress, but  _the_  dress - the dress that you wore the night you won your first award, and the night you met Tom.


	22. Chapter 22

Sitting on the bed in the new room the hotel has shuffled you to, you can’t seem to look away from the preliminary list of your destroyed belongings. Memorabilia, gifts from friends and family, pretty much your entire wardrobe -- nothing had been safe from the person or persons who had found a way into your hotel room. At least you still had the few items you’d taken with you on your trip to see Tom.

Tom!! With everything that had happened you’d forgotten to call him. At least the phone has been charging while you were talking with Mark, Eddie, and the police. You tap the icon to call him and wait for an answer, startled by the garbled hello before you remember that for him it is the middle of the night. No wonder you were so weary. God if you were just still there, in bed sleeping rather than sitting there on the edge of an emotional tailspin. “Hey – oh. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“______? Hang on.” You hear the rustle of movement and him clearing his throat before speaking again, “I thought you were going to call after landing?”

You have to physically turn yourself away from the itemized list that the police had given you a copy of… the page was full of words. Words… items… things. They were all just things. Things can be replaced. “No…” You are betrayed by the unsteadiness of your voice. You sigh when you see the video chat request pop up on screen. “Tom can’t we just talk? I look like shit. I haven’t really slept since I was there with you. And I really need a shower.”

“Answer, please.”

You close your eyes and shake your head before relenting and watching him moving to sit up in his bed. Seeing his bare chest stirs both longing and guilt. “God, I should have waited to call. I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You can wake me anytime you want. I figured you had fallen asleep as soon as you got back.” He is almost playful, almost. He knows something is wrong. He narrows his eyes at you, “So – what happened? Your last text said the flight was going well.”

Everything had been going well. Even the trip from the airport to the hotel was even a decent one, aside from the caffeine jitters you’d inflicted upon yourself. He listens as you explain the security guards bursting into the weight room where you had been running on a treadmill, all the way until you relayed Eddie’s conversation with his security team and then suddenly Tom is in motion. You haven’t even gotten to the part that freaked you out the most about the whole thing. You pause your narration to watch him. “What are you doing?”

He had tossed the phone down and out of the corner of the screen you can see he is pulling on a pair of slacks. He pauses to come back into view and blink at you as though it were completely obvious. “Catching the next flight.”

“Oh Tom.”

He’s holding his slacks loose at his hips and frowning down at his phone, thereby you. “If they’re worried about your safety I’m worried about your safety.”

“For all they know at this point it could have happened anytime during the week. While I was sitting there Eddie said he could only find key access codes for Mark going into the room and then the hotel staff to clean.” You’re trying to keep your voice steady while you speak. Maintain control. You can do this.

Tom cocks his head to the side, “It? Cleaning staff? Ok you need to explain further. You’re not talking about another fan or paparazzi incident…” He picks up the phone and perches on the edge of the bed with his trousers still undone.

“Evidently…” you don’t like how that sounded so you try the word again. “Evidently while I was there with you, someone broke into my room here at the hotel and trashed, well, everything.” You pick up the paper and hold it up so he can see the filled page. “The things in the safe – scripts mainly – survived but… God Tom, they shredded or smashed everything they could get their hands on.”

He drops the phone again and messes with his zipper and button so he can continue getting dressed. “_____ I’m coming there.”

If Tom makes the trip to LA it will be the reverse of the situation that the pair of you were in while in London. You would be going in to work every day and he would be waiting for your return. You attempt a smile and try to feed him the same words that don’t quite appease your own feelings regarding the loss, “It’s … it’s just things. I’ll be in the new place tomorrow. Moving will be… easier? Nothing really to carry now, just the stuff I had with me there. As much as I would love seeing you so soon I don’t want you to drop everything. I couldn’t ask that of you. You have your work to concentrate on and I have mine.”

Tom sits back down on the bed, half-clad, and scoops the phone up into his hands again, “If I can’t come to the rescue then what use can I be?”

You continue to try push aside the side of you that wants to despair over your material losses. Focus on the good in your life right now. Focus on Tom. “Well if you refuse to go back to sleep –”

Tom cuts your sentence off with an adamant, “I do.”

You can feel the corners of your mouth briefly try to twitch into a smile. You may still be feeling angry and violated along with the sorrow over the loss, but Tom has the ability – even at a great physical distance – to lift your spirits. “I guess, talk with me? Now that you know about my wonderful day, how was yours?” You remove the list of destroyed items from your field of vision before you get comfortable in the overstuffed chair near the bed. You place the list atop the dresser and put your bag on it for good measure. Out of sight out of mind.

He yawns as he situates himself so that he can lean back on the headboard of his bed. “Well, I have a confession. Until recently I’ve had a beautiful woman in my bed.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh?”

Absently he is running one of his hands under his chin and down over his Adam’s apple. The light casts some interesting shadows over his bare chest. “The bed feels a little too big, a little too empty now.”

“All the more room to spread out.” The mental image of him throwing his legs and arms out to try to fill up the bed flashes in your head. Log that away to giggle at later. “I wish I was there.”

Tom is the voice of reassurance and reason, which was the point of calling him. “Staying here wouldn’t have changed what happened to your things. Ignoring what you went back to, it’s a good thing you went back today. Shooting went long. Since you weren’t here to come back to I stayed to greet the fans that had been waiting. I was so exhausted I fell into bed the moment I got home. If you had stayed, it would have been another long day spent with John or Bruce.” He pauses, “You didn’t have to do the wash, you know.”

“It was the least I could do. Besides, we’d already restocked your groceries.” You had only washed the linens. It was just something that had kept you occupied while you waited to go to the airport. It seems like ages ago rather than just a few hours.

“True enough. Do you want me to see if we can get John or Bruce to come there? You like them right? No complaints?” Mercifully he has stopped massaging his throat to hold his hand out palm up while he makes the suggestion.  

 “Tom they’re contracted to protect you, not me. Mark and I will figure something out. He’s probably already got someone ready and waiting.” He leans forward while you are talking causing the shadows on his body to migrate. Ok enough of that. “Lord Tom you need to go put on more clothes.”

He counters your statement, his words accompanied by a wry smile. “You need to take _off_ more clothes. I was in bed, asleep. And be fair, I was trying to earlier and you stopped me.” Despite the emotional wounds of the day you laugh, and when you do Tom nods approvingly. “That’s more like it. Now, before you say no outright - remember you’ve told me I can’t fly there and be your white knight. What can I have delivered to your place?”

“Tom…”

He shrugs, “Fine. It’ll be a surprise then.”

You place your free hand over your eyes then drop it down to cover your yawn which delays your reply. “Please don’t.” His frustrated expression makes you amend your words, “Something small, if you _must_ , but let me get there and sorted first, please. I think Dad was going to have one of his guys make something – a coffee table, something functional at least.” You shake your head, “After the read through I’ll…” Tom looks like he is about to fall asleep. You smile at the image you hold in your hand of the overly exhausted man that you adore. “Hey – I’m going to go.” He immediately tries to blink himself awake to protest. You talk over him, “I need to shower still and get some sleep so I’ll be able to read the words on the page tomorrow. Go back to sleep, if you have time.”

He relents which is a sign in and of itself that he needs to sleep. “Alright. Goodnight darling.”

“I –” you stutter your sentence before going a different route, “I’ll call you and show you the place once I’m able. Goodnight.” After ending the call you sit there and stare at your phone. You’re not quite sure how you feel about the fact that your mood can change so drastically depending on him. You’re too exhausted to try to analyze that at the moment though. He had made you laugh, which you desperately needed, and by trying to reassure him you were okay you had partially reassured yourself.

The things you had lost were only precious to you because of the memories you associated with them. This was a survivable event. 


	23. Chapter 23

A text from Mark wakes you.  

_Dropping something off and then coming to pick you up and give you the keys to the new place._

He probably would have called if he wasn’t still so mad at you for staying the extra night at the hotel. He’ll get over it – eventually – maybe. 

There’s also a message from Tom waiting for you:  

_Good morning gorgeous. The boys and I ran sprints in the park. It isn’t the same without your laughter pushing us on. Let me know when and I’ll try to be available for the virtual tour of the new place._   

Back to the long distance relationship routine – it’ll be difficult but you vow to make it work.

While lying there in bed you tap out a response: 

_It’ll probably be late for you babe._

You frown at the term of endearment – Tom calls you sweetheart and darling, why does it sound so odd for you to try a pet name with him? You backspace before continuing on. 

_It’ll probably be late for you but consider it a date. Sorry for waking you last night. I hope you were able to get enough sleep – I’ll make it up to you, promise._  

The next thing that draws your attention is how hungry you are. It is no wonder – you’d showered and gone right to bed after talking to Tom and had slept through the night until the text from Mark had woken you. Mark’s timetable probably gives you exactly enough time to shower and run down to eat something before he gets to the hotel. The moment you step out of the elevator you find Eddie waiting. He probably saw you on the elevator security feed. It’s a little strange, but nice to have his company while you eat – and Mark seems pleased by it when he wanders in. Mark doesn’t mention anything about having personal security and you have no plans on bringing it up.

There has been a slow trickle of messages arriving on your phone all morning with people talking about the break in at the hotel. How sorry they are, if you need anything, how much they miss you. For the last bit of breakfast Mark kept his head down, reading things on his tablet, rather than chat with you – a clear signal that he’s still miffed. He’s still doing it in the car so you resist talking to him, but when the tenth friend from the theater back home sends you a text you risk breaking the frosty silence. “Did you happen to call either of my parents to tell them about the break in?”

Mark has your stack of scripts balanced on his lap with his tablet resting atop the pile. He knits his eyebrows together when he look up at you, “No – I thought you would handle that.”

You bite your lip, “I fell asleep.” Glancing down at your phone you frown, “That’s – weird then. How does everyone at the theater already know?”

You hadn’t even finished the question and Mark’s fingers were tapping out a sequence on his tablet. He huffs under his breath and starts to pull out his phone. “Somebody leaked photos of the mess.”

Excellent. Looks of pity and gossip to start your second feature film. Maybe it would have been better to have accepted your award and just gone back home. At least your award hadn’t been among the things destroyed – your father already had it, locked away safe and sound. Mark spends the rest of the ride exchanging heated words with various people on the phone.

 It is almost a relief to be out of the car and alone in your apartment. Almost. Being alone in your apartment just amplifies how empty it is, and how little you had left to bring with you. You don’t have long to dwell on any of it. You need to be at work to read through the acts that have been set – as well as plan out any training that needs to take place. The only real battle you can see is the training that might need to be required for the car crash scene – and if they’ll let you do any of the stunts.

You toss your luggage into the one stick of furniture you had in the house – a comfy chair sent by your mother. It only takes a second to dig your ipod out of your now well used shoulder bag. You have enough time that you can walk a few blocks before needing to hail a taxi. It’ll be interesting to see what the neighborhood looks like while it is still early in the morning. You’d seen the apartment later in the day when you were house hunting.

You’ve picked an upbeat playlist to help to boost your confidence. Perhaps not the best choice because of how jumpy you are with the combination of the events of last night plus the ever lovely jet lag, but it helps distract from your nerves a bit. You landed the job, yay. That means Emily is yours to screw up. Today is just a simple read-through with the cast. Maybe you should have stayed holed up in the hotel scouring the material for every nuance so you’d feel better prepared. Oh but the short visit had been completely worth it. Just thinking about Tom has your heart doing flips within your chest.

 A hand clamps down on your wrist and spins you around on the sidewalk. Your training for Touring Sundays kicks in and your muscle memory helps you to break the hold the man has on your wrist. The action pulls your headphones from your ears. Should you call for help? Rush back to your place? Try to run from him? Hold your ground? Why was the sidewalk deserted right now? The man immediately takes a few steps back and holds his hands up before him, palms towards you. “Woah woah – Mark said to watch out in how I approached but you were rushing away from me. I take it Mark didn’t tell you to expect me.”

You are careful to keep yourself at a distance. Just because this guy claims Mark sent him doesn’t make it true. “That would be a no.”

“Wait. Just wait. I’ll call him.” He keeps one hand directed at you as though telling you to halt while he digs his phone out of his pocket. He waits for an answer before speaking into the phone, “Mark? It’s Richard. So um, can you talk to your girl here before she tries to break my hand again?” He chortles at the response on the other end before holding the phone out to you.

You cautiously pluck the phone from his fingers and step back beyond the man – Richard’s – reach again. “Mark?”

“Sorry _____, I was so caught up with the release of those photos that I forgot to tell you about Richard. Meet your new bodyguard.” Mark sounds much calmer than he had in the car with you earlier, probably exhausted after yelling so much in the past half-a-day.

You eye Richard. He is rubbing the tendons in his hand while watching you talk on the phone. You frown and look out at the street. “I thought we were going to discuss this first.”

Mark barks out a laugh, “After yesterday? The only discussion will be if we are content with just one or we need to add another to your detail.”

He has a point, but you are still feeling petulant. “Well, fuck.”

“Language, _______. Now – enjoy the day. Call me if you need to.”

You hand Richard his phone back. “Um well, sorry about your hand?”

He laughs it off while pocketing his phone again. “Don’t worry about it. Tell me that’s not the way you interact with fans.”

That really wouldn’t look good. You’re not exactly being chased down the street right now though, Richard aside. “Nobody has ever grabbed me like that actually.” You spot a taxi and start to flag it down.

“Good to know you know some basic self-defense techniques.” He waves the taxi driver off, “I’ve got a car. Parking was a pain but I’m talking to your landlord about that.” The pair of you don’t talk much in the car on the ride in. It isn’t until you’re in the building that he starts up the conversation again, “We’re going to need to discuss your routine, public appearances…”

“There’s my Emily.” Benedict’s interruption makes you smile.

You turn to see your costar and take in his appearance. They’ve bleached his hair from the dark mess of curls you’d gotten used to seeing to something back even beyond his natural hair color. “Hello Benedict. Blonde suits you.” You momentarily tilt your head to your side to indicate your new bodyguard, “Benedict, Richard. Richard, Benedict.”

After greeting each other Benedict settles his attention on you. "Did you enjoy your time in London with Tom?" His eyes sparkle when he questions you which makes you think he already knows the answer. How the hell much do they talk about concerning you?

"Very much. It's beautiful there." You can feel a flush rising as you reply.

“And then you came back to... Sorry about your things.” He has fallen into step beside you with Richard following close behind.

You nod to acknowledge his statement. “Did Tom tell you or did you see the photos this morning?”

Benedict blinks, “Photos? I heard about it from Tom – oh and I’ve been told to remind you to let him get you something.”

You roll your eyes and laugh as the three of you enter the room buzzing with people. “God that man. I should have hidden his wallet before I left, out of spite.” You survey the small crowd mingling around the horseshoe of tables. These are the people that you'll be acting alongside for the duration of the project. Hopefully everyone will get along. You pause the conversation to move away from Benedict and say a quick hello around the room. It seems everyone has heard about the break in at the hotel. You’re starting to tire of repeating yourself. How many times can you say _no really, I’m fine_ before people will believe you?

After you sit down Benedict takes the seat next to you. “Hide his wallet?”

Richard motions to the row of chairs against the wall. Evidently he’s content to stare a hole in your back from afar. You nod in understanding before replying to Benedict's question. “Of course that isn’t something he would choose to share with you. He wanted to pay for everything all week and…”

“Ok looks like everyone is here. Or they’re late... Anyway, let’s get started with introductions.” You glance around the room – most of the cast is already sitting and waiting patiently. The one or two stragglers would hopefully show before it came time for them to introduce themselves to the group.

It is key that the audience becomes emotionally invested in the couple – if they don’t believe Jack and Emily are worthwhile then what is the point of the movie? They’ve changed the script from the original that you read for your audition to show how the characters met rather than merely reference it, and now the bit where you and Benedict would be in bed together has been expanded. Joy. 

You linger behind after the long day of reading is complete to test the waters regarding the stunts. Maybe they are already developing the mechanisms for the car crash scene. You're no A list actor, surely they'll at least consider letting you attempt some of the stunt work.

"No. No way. No. Are you out of your mind? There's no way we're putting you in that car for the crash sequence." The director continues to shake his head the entire time he is talking to you. 

Benedict had started to leave the room but loops back to take part in the conversation. He must be interested in attempting the sequence as well. Benedict put his hand on your shoulder, “She’s not saying she wants to be in the car when it flips.”

“Answer’s no guys.”

“Even if it flips slowly?” You continue. Benedict gives your shoulder a light squeeze in warning. He’s right, continuing to push won’t help, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to try. “Sorry, I know you’re just trying to protect us.”

This brings out a weary smile from the director. “Yes. Oh don’t look so disappointed ______, by the time we’re ready to film the car crash you’ll have spent so much time filming in the car you’ll be happy to let someone else be in the seat.”

The four of you leave the room, the director headed to parts of the building unknown while you, Benedict, and Richard head for the exit. There’s still enough time in the day that you can at least go shopping to find a bedframe and mattress. The rest of the furniture for the place can wait until you’ve painted the walls.

Benedict heads his own separate way leaving you and Richard alone to discuss the plans for the remainder of the day. The conversation has a few odd starts and stops as you walk to the car. Once you’re more familiar with each other that probably won’t happen as much. Right now you are each still trying to measure the reactions of the other. “Richard – is it ok if we take a detour rather than head straight back to the apartment?”

He is hesitant, “Dinner?”

“Well, that too. But I um, I need to go shopping?” Maybe if you sounded a little more confident in the request he wouldn’t be giving you such a skeptical look. “The only furniture I have in the apartment right now is a chair. I’m not saying I want to furnish the whole place tonight, I just need something to sleep on. Don’t worry I won’t ask you to help me put anything together.”

That promise to Richard is how you end up sitting in a pile of parts to a bedframe with Tom watching your progress with a great deal of amusement. “Sweetheart – why didn’t you just ask him to stay and help you?” He considers his own question and chuckles, “Silly question oh-stubborn-one. Ok, read it to me again?”

You wave the instructions around in the air towards where you have your phone propped up. “I’m tempted to just say fuck it and sleep on the mattress on the floor. I can follow directions. I swear! There must be a piece missing…” You’ve started to recount the parts that you’d pulled from the box, muttering while setting them aside once you’ve checked them off the list at the top of the instruction page.

“A vital piece.” From Tom’s tone you can’t tell if he’s making fun of you or not. You look up with a small furrow forming between your eyebrows. He lets out a delighted laugh at your expression, “Me. My flight would have landed hours ago. We would be sprawled out on your bed right now – you flipping through pages trying to concentrate – me doing everything in my power to distract you.”

“I… You never brought pages home while I was there.” You feel slightly stricken. “You should have told me - I would have helped you run lines.”

Tom grins at you, “Three points. One: I love that you consider here home. Every time I hear you say that my heart sings. Two: I was fully prepared for the scenes this week, even before your arrival. And three: John and Bruce might have enjoyed us staying in every night but I will never be one for passing up the opportunity to go out dancing with you.” 


	24. Chapter 24

Trying to focus on putting something together with Tom providing commentary is incredibly difficult. The one thing that is in your favor is that via video chat he remains only a mental distraction and not a physical one. You do eventually get the bedframe together once you find the missing piece – the segment that joins the headboard to the siding had somehow gotten hidden in the stack of protective wrap that you’d thrown behind you. Tom had still been laughing about it after you’d completed the structure and said goodnight.

Your first week back on the job is a flurry of activity. As agreed, you wait for Richard before going running in the morning. Richard then escorts you to work, you spend all day pouring over pages with Benedict and the rest of the cast, and then Richard escorts you home, sometimes with an added detour to pick up various supplies needed for working on your place. You have an off day this coming Sunday and both Richard and Benedict have promised to come over to help you paint the walls of the living room. Still two days to go so your supplies sit in the corner of the room calling your name.

Now that you’ve relocated from the hotel and you don’t have the convenience of a gym at your immediate disposal you get your exercise running around the neighborhood. It reminds you of running in the mornings with Tom – if only there were a small park close by you wouldn’t have to dodge the occasional early morning walker. The first morning you go running it is just you and Richard, the second, a photographer keeps pace for the first mile. After that it seems that you have a duckling trail following you, one that grows in number each subsequent day.

On the ride in to work you send texts to Tom describing the procession. You usually exchange some sort of banter, something that helps to start your day with a smile. You start today’s conversation off talking about the photographers bobbling their cameras while jogging. 

_I think Richard & I counted 10 this morning. It’s starting to look like a parade. Is it wrong that I keep running longer & longer distances to see who can keep up? One’s camera strap nearly broke on him, poor little ducky._

Tom’s reply follows quickly. 

_Don’t make me laugh! Meeting at the moment. But that’s my girl. Keep them on their toes._

You’re curious but don’t follow with another text. If you’d known he was going to be in a meeting you would have waited to message him. Whatever it is about, he’ll tell you the details when he has the time. The last time you’d heard his voice was when you were putting your bed together. Maybe there will be time later in the day for a phone call – but it always seemed like one of you had something going on. Your availability was only going to get worse from here on out. You’d agreed to film a spot next Saturday, and Mark was still turning up new projects that were so very tempting.

“Alright Mark, I’ll tell her.” Richard has been having a muttered conversation with Mark while you were mulling things over in your head. He had promised to tell you something yet keeps his eyes on the road after he ends the conversation with Mark.

You wait a beat before prompting him, “So…. Tell me what?”

“The head of security over at the hotel –”

“Eddie.”

Richard bows his head and amends his words, “Eddie has been spooling through security tapes with the police and they found something. Found someone using the staff elevator to gain access to the floor. Once just before your trip and then again the day before you got back. They’re gonna want to talk with you – show you some pictures – see if you recognize anyone.”

Some chilling news regarding the break-in. It hadn’t been a onetime deal. “Ok. When?” Sooner would be better than later. You’d love to know who had done it and why.

“The detectives would like to meet with you as soon as they can. We’ll see if we can get you by there this afternoon.”

Tom will most definitely want to be kept up to date. You tap out a quick message: 

_Meeting with detectives this afternoon regarding breakin! Possibility that they’ve found something out._

He doesn’t respond, but then he had said he was in a meeting. You’ll call him once you’re home again to keep him in the loop. You could very easily spend the rest of the day speculating about the break-in and what the police would have to show you. Instead, though, you let that restless energy be fuel for your portrayal of Emily.

You immediately recognize one of the two detectives waiting to meet with you as one of the many individuals that had been at the hotel last week. They have a more complete list of your losses now and applaud the fact that you aren’t taking any of it lightly and now have a bodyguard. “Mark sent over his records, but have you received any mail that was threatening? Anything that maybe slipped past Eddie or Mark?”

Frowning, you shake your head. “They coordinated a very effective buffer. Why?”

The detective doesn’t exactly answer your question. “There wasn’t a day during your stay at the hotel that you noticed something, or something extra having been left?”

You glance at Richard, who seems just as interested in your response at the two detectives seated before you. “No. I mean it is obvious when someone comes in to clean when you’re staying in a hotel but I can’t think of anything. I’m still missing a bracelet. Silver with a charm.” You tap the list in your lap that you haven’t gotten a chance to look over yet. Half of you wants the bracelet to have been destroyed, half wants it to still be unaccounted for. “You didn’t happen to find it in there?”

“That answers that question. We found someone online trying to sell the bracelet, claiming they’re you. Donating the proceeds to a dummy chairty. We asked that the auction house put a hold on the start of the auction while we work through the channels to nail the guy.” Your heart jumps – they found your bracelet! Sort of. “We just need your ok to go through with the sale once we have everything squared on our end.”

They look hesitant. Do they think you’re going to stand in the way of catching this person? Or deprive the charity of whatever meager funds can be earned from the sale? It was a gift from your mother but, once again the same phrase that carried you before pops into your head again. It’s just a thing. Material possessions can always be replaced. “We can fix it so the money won’t go to him right? It’ll go somewhere legit?” Once confirming your question you give them a nod, “Go right ahead. Is that all that you need from me then? My ok?”

“Well we’d like you to look at some pictures. See if anybody looks familiar – faces that maybe you’ve seen in the crowd. Any gifts without someone claiming credit for them?”

You half laugh, these two evidently think you’re more famous than you actually are. “The few things I’ve gotten have been delivered through Mark. But photos – I’ll help however I can.”

“You’re sure that you can’t think of anything that was left for you?”  They slide a binder full of photos across the desk towards you. Goodness, this is going to take a while.

Why do they keep pushing something being left for you? You keep your head down looking at the photos in the binder. “No.”

There is a moment of silence and you look up to find both of the detectives have skeptical looks on their faces like they don’t believe what you’re saying. “The security feed shows the individual going up to your floor with a package and then leaving a short time later without it.” He leans forward a bit to study you closely, “Anything that you can think of that was odd, out of place…” He nods when your eyes light up with his choice of phrasing. “What. What did you just think of?”

“I nearly tripped over a newspaper left at my door – I never ordered the delivery service, I just figured that the staff accidentally gave me one that morning, um right before my trip.” Under the intense gaze from all three men you feel a little dumb. You should have mentioned the paper sooner.

“Where is the paper now?”

God – it’s sitting among your pile of things from your trip. “It’s at my place. But I took it with me when I went to London.”

One of the detectives just barely restrains himself from groaning but doesn’t do a great job at masking his pained expression. “How many people have touched it?”

You can feel a flush rising, “I think just me and my boyfriend. And he might have written on it?”

The groan is audible now. “Alright we’ll have to confirm that. And we’ll send someone by to collect the newspaper. No one else touches it. Understood?”

Back in the car with Richard you tap out another message to Tom. He still hasn’t responded from the last one you sent. An all-day meeting? Ick.   

_Detectives are going to call you and ask about the note you wrote me on the LA newspaper. Apparently the person that broke in and destroyed my things left the newspaper for me. I feel a little sick even having touched it, let along carry it with me for so long. Hope your meeting went well._

Somehow Richard knows that you don’t feel like shopping for furniture for the apartment today. Without asking he bypasses the usual turn towards the shopping center in favor of heading back to your place.

Your spirits lift a little when, instead of texting a reply, Tom calls. “Hello, sweetheart. My meeting was…” he puffs out a sigh, “both good and bad. But I’ll get to that. What’s this about the newspaper?” You briefly explain it to him. “I wrote you notes on paper scraps but I didn’t write anything on the newspaper, ______. I suppose they’ll want to hear that from me though.”

You should have been expecting his response. It’s just been that kind of turn of events. “Probably. But you said you had good news. I’d much rather talk about that.”

Tom seems hesitant. “A mixture, really. You know how we were planning on my return to LA?”

Oh no. You’d wanted to hear good news. “…Yes…”

“That project got delayed… But an opportunity came up… I can’t tell you the details right now but it means that I won’t be there as soon as we’d thought.” His tone conveys his conflicted emotions. He’s clearly excited about participating in the project and upset that the plans you had made together aren’t working out.

Another project that will keep the pair of you apart. “How um, how long of a delay? By the time production is done for me here?”

Tom is moving around, probably pacing. You’d be doing the same if you weren’t in the car at the moment. “You’ll have started on the Touring Sundays sequel, which I want to hear all about while I can. I’ll be out of touch for part of it so…”

“Wow, Tom. That’s quite the closely guarded secret you’ve agreed to.” You let some of your frustration and dismay slip out with the remark. Get a handle on yourself and don’t snap at him for taking a job. He wouldn’t do that to you. You note that Richard gives you a surprised sidelong look before returning his attention to the road. It was uncalled for, yes. You sigh, “I’m sorry. I’m frustrated.”

“It’s alright, darling. I’m frustrated too. There are things about it I want to tell you but they were clear in their wishes. I’ll tell you all I can, when I can.”

You want to stay on the phone with him to make amends for your bad behavior but you notice that there is already a police car waiting at the curb when Richard pulls up to parallel park in front of your place. “Tom, I’ve got to go. They’ve already got someone here to collect the paper.” It’s late for him anyway. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is wishful thinking. You don’t end up talking to Tom again until the end of the following week. At least it is good news that you have to share with him, “Tom! They arrested the guy! And the auction did decently. Better than I expected anyway. But the result is the same – they caught the guy!”

You hadn’t bothered texting first to see if Tom was available. If he hadn’t been you would have just left an overly excited voicemail for him to listen to at his leisure. “Good. Good. I’m sure Bruce and John will be glad to hear that as well. Speaking of the guys – what are you doing hmmm, three weeks from today?”

“Filming, probably. Why?” You can see someone headed your way to lure you back to work and hold up your hand to ask for a little more time.

“They’ll be coming with me to New York for the day. It’s about time we attended a function together, don’t you think?” Oh the pop-movie awards. You’d also gotten an invite to that and then declined when you realized that you’d be working. Tom sounds so cheerful. It breaks your heart to have to say no.


	25. Chapter 25

“I wish I could go with you.” You’re sitting with your elbows propped up on the table before you with your chin resting in the palm of your hand. You're watching Tom get ready for an awards show that you can’t attend. Tom’s on the same continent and you can’t see him. So. Incredibly. Frustrating. Watching him get dressed has been a whole other kind of frustrating which just makes the scenes you’ll be going back to that much more problematic.

He holds up two ties for you to choose from, holding the left up to his collar first. You shrug, drawing a laugh from him. “Ditto. Our schedules haven’t been cooperating, have they.” When he holds the right tie up you make a face and he laughs harder, “Ok, the first one it is.”

You watch him affix his tie. He looks wonderful in a suit. And you? Today you’re in your birthday suit – well nearly. The bedroom scene between Jack and Emily had been on the docket for the day. It seems like it is taking forever to get the shot right too. You have a robe tightly secured at the moment.  Once done with his adjustments he lets you give him the once over, “You look wonderful, Tom.”

He grins and then fumbles through picking up his phone to bring it closer to him, “And you look – wait, what are you wearing?”

“Er. Something from wardrobe. I’m not about to walk around naked between takes. I’m uncomfortable enough as it is. The sex scene is still incomplete and...” Tom is making an odd face. “It’s taking forever to shoot. Ben is being an absolute gentleman about it. What?”

Tom shakes his head, “Let’s not talk about you being in bed with Ben, please.”

Talking about it is better than keeping the details from him and letting him wonder until he hears about it from another source or sees it in the movie. You can understand his discomfort but he’s not alone in the feeling. “Ok – um. We’ve nearly finished painting the entryway and the living room at my place. The kitchen is next. Oh! The loveseat you sent me is gorgeous. It’s still under a layer of wrapping to protect it from being splattered at the moment…”

You pause when he nods in the direction of the door to his hotel room, responding to something you didn’t hear. “John and Bruce are here.”

You glance down at your attire. You’re definitely not dressed to have a conversation with them. “I’ll get back to work then. Say hi to them for me. And send me pictures if you can?” After you end the call you shake your head. Something always seems to derail the infrequent conversations you have with Tom. More to the point, something you say derails the conversations. Here let’s bring up the goddamn nudity you experience with one of his friends – that’ll be an excellent topic for discussion.

It’s a huge relief when the day is finally over and you can get back into your clothes. Benedict had been fiercely protective of you throughout, even pausing between takes to scold a grip he thought to have been enjoying the view a bit too much.You could have handled the issue yourself but you’d just wanted to get through the day as quickly as possible.

Knowing that it would be a long day and content that the studio’s security team had you adequately protected, Richard had gone shopping for more painting supplies during the day’s shoot. It had been something to keep him from seeing you naked – something you were hoping to avoid.

On the ride home you scroll through the photos that Tom had sent to you of the awards show. He’d even sent you a video of the crowd mingling before him before spinning his phone in his hands to wave at you. It’s late but you might be able to find a feed of the show somewhere – you really should invest in some form of tech other than your phone so you aren’t so dependent upon it for your news fix. Watching the show on a computer or television would help you to find the one man you’re dying to spot in the crowd. You tap out a message to Tom.  

_Oh what a day. Should I bother looking up the show on my phone or just keep pestering you for pics? Tell me who you’re seated beside & I’ll play Where’s Waldo._

His laughter echoes in your head when you read his reply:  

_I was seated farther back. Got to visit with some of the Avengers cast. There were some hilarious moments worth reviewing._

In come another few photos of his old cast-mates laughing with him over some unknown joke. You would have loved to have met them, gotten to mingle with them and know more of the people that Tom cherishes in his life. Maybe next time…  

_No need to hunt for me in the seats now. I left early to beat the mass exodus._

Hmm it would have been fun to try to spot him, even on the tiny screen of your phone. Richard shadows you to your door, helping to carry the paint supplies inside before heading out. You should just go try to sleep but your brain is a mass of activity so instead you pop open one of the small sample cans of paint to play with colors in the kitchen. Thankfully you’d had time during the week to stock the kitchen with some of the more vital things in life. You pour yourself a glass of wine before dipping a slender paintbrush into the open sample can and swiping a stripe of color over the blank backsplash.

Another text from Tom comes through: 

_Doth the lady sleep? I know you said it was a long day._

_Still awake_

You tap out a reply while trying to balance the paintbrush between your outer fingers. You nearly drop it onto your clean counter and end up with paint all over your hand. It’ll dry quickly, so you don’t bother to hurry over to the sink but rather continue to text Tom. Just don’t mention the scenes of the day again, or your disappointment over being left in the dark regarding his next project, and don’t get paint all over your phone.  

_Still pouting over not getting to go with you tonight. Have any more photos? You said there were some hilarious moments?_   

Poor thing must still have gotten stuck in traffic, or else is bored now that he’s back at his hotel in New York. He should go out and do something. It’s the city that never sleeps, after all.

A few more photos stream through. He had taken your request for photos of the show seriously. Tom pointing out something in the venue. Tom holding up a gift bag, his swag from the night. Tom with his tie undone after leaving the event, the inside of his car illuminated by the surrounding lights of the city.  

_No need to pout darling. There will be other events we can attend together._

Yes. He’s right. And not going saved you from having to find something to wear, seeing as your wardrobe was still limited. Not that you would have chosen to wear the same dress that you’d worn the night you won your award so many months ago. You might have worn your bracelet - if you hadn't ultimately decided to auction it off.Your mother had wondered about your reasoning there and it had taken you awhile to explain it to her.

Honestly it had been an easy choice to make – the bracelet may have been a gift from your mother but the sentiment had been tainted the moment the man who broke into your hotel room had pocketed it – combine that with the fact that the funds raised from the auction had gone somewhere they had been needed? The good that came about helped to negate the bad you associate with the whole incident – well, lessen but not completely erase the feelings. The fact that the man they’d arrested still hadn’t fully explained why he’d felt the need to destroy so many of your things was a great source of frustration.

Easier to focus on your job and getting your new place decorated the way you want. That focus makes it less tempting to go out on the town.  

_I know. I just miss you._

Now is not the time to lament over the fact that you’re in a long distance relationship. Don’t derail this conversation too. You wait to let him steer the conversation back to a topic of his choosing.

You swipe some hair away from your face and study the area where you’d just brushed a rudimentary square of color. Maybe sunset orange isn’t the right color for the kitchen, even as an accent. You pop open two other cans of paint and add the additional squares of color to the backsplash to compare. You’ve just finished with the third color when your phone starts to jump across the counter – Tom’s requesting a video chat. You prop the phone up as you answer so you can keep playing with paint on the wall.

He’s still in the same outfit you’d seen him getting into before the event, his tie is undone and hanging loosely from his collar. “Hello sweetheart – why are you covered in paint?”

“What? Oh – I’m playing with colors in the kitchen.” You must have touched your face without realizing it. Hmm if you keep playing with the paint it might appear that you're disinterested. You'd much rather talk to Tom anyway. You start to close up the containers so you can turn your attention fully to the conversation. “Why aren’t you out dancing and catching up with your friends?”

Tom places his phone atop a table in front of him and sits back on the bed to tug his tie free from his collar. “Talked with those I wanted to during commercial breaks. It’s an early flight in the morning and the only person I really wanted to see didn’t attend. If I’d thought it through I would have ducked out earlier and shown up on your doorstep.” You stop cleaning up your painting supplies to smirk at him. He ducks his head slightly while tossing his jacket and tie onto the bed beside him, “Not nearly as romantic as taking a week and flying across the Atlantic, I know.”

You pick up your phone and walk into the main room. “Tom, really. You’re clearly winning in the romantic gestures department.” You show him the wall where you’ve put the frame containing the scraps of paper with the love notes he’d written you while you were in London and then turn to focus on the loveseat that he'd sent you. You then settle yourself down onto the cushions of the loveseat to resume talking to him, “Besides, Richard would have flipped out if you’d arrived unannounced. And will you _please_ stop stripping.” He’s got his shirt partially unbuttoned now, which he must have done while you had the phone turned.

He laughs, ignoring your request and continuing to fiddle with the buttons. “If I’d known you were going to have them framed I might have written a little neater…”

“What – did you think I was going to throw them away? They’re heartfelt and from you…” Talking about the framed notes pulls your eyes from the screen of your phone to the wall where they hang. The centerpiece of the frame is the note he’d hastily scribbled on the back of the grocery receipt. You glare back at him, “Just what do you think is wrong with your handwriting anyway? And if you try to replace any of them so help me Thomas…”

You’re still in a good mood the next morning as a result of the phone call, waking up early and ready to run far in advance of Richard’s arrival. You tap out a message to him to let him know you’re up and that you’ll be waiting to start the run. You change into some running gear and wander down to the sidewalk to talk with everyone while waiting for the group to amass. The group of photographers that runs with you has settled into a steady group of eight to ten people. This morning there are a few standing amongst the regulars that aren’t dressed in running gear, looking at those who are with skeptical expressions.

You pick the closest one to you to zero in on as you approach where they are standing on the sidewalk. “Morning. You guys do realize we don’t just stand around and chat on the sidewalk, right?”

One of the regulars responds through the click of the cameras. “They’re hoping the rumors are true. That Tom came here after the show last night.”

You shrug and shake your head, “Sorry to disappoint but it’s just me.”

“Is there trouble in the relationship then? Is that why you didn’t attend despite being invited?” One of the paparazzi in street clothes had asked the question.

It’s either a story about the pair of you being adorable together or about how things may have fallen apart. You smile at the woman as you answer her. Your reply makes the group chuckle. “If I’d gone I wouldn’t be here to answer your questions.” You take a sidelong look at your watch, “Tom’s probably hopping on a plane to fly out of New York right about now.”

“Back to London.” “Can you tell us anything about what he’ll be doing next?” “He could have flown out from here.” Hell, they probably know more about Tom’s next project than you do – not that you’ll admit that to them. Even your regular running buddies are starting to jump on the opportunity to pepper you with questions. Usually everyone is too busy concentrating on breathing and putting one foot in front of the other while running to bother with talking. Maybe you should have waited indoors for Richard to get here. 


	26. Chapter 26

Tom wraps up the filming in London and leaves to start the new project that has him so tight lipped at the same time that you start the stunt training for the car crash scene, and finish painting the walls of the last room to need painting in your place. You only have a little detail painting left to do now, thanks to the help that Benedict and Richard have provided. You’ve tried to keep Tom involved by sending him pictures of your progress. Sometimes he replies – mostly with photos of him hidden away indoors somewhere, sometimes he doesn’t. Reception – wherever he is – is spotty.

Since Tom is out of contact for the most part, and you’re nearly done with the major parts of decorating your place, you start to fill your days with as many various projects as you can. This morning your alarm jolts you into consciousness with such force that all your muscles spasm at once. A hot shower does nothing to soothe the persistent ache that follows. You just need to make it through a few more days and then you’ll be able to spend all day curled up on the loveseat resting. Oh, but you had already confirmed filming a TV spot on your off day from being Emily. The spot was in the afternoon, right? So you can at least sleep for a few extra hours in the morning?

You're probably sore as a combination of restlessness at night and the training for the car crash scene. Today looks to end up being a short day as a result of how early you started, at least for you and Benedict. The B-roll is off somewhere else at the moment.

Benedict glances his fingers over your collar before he flips his hand to run the backs of his fingers up your neck towards your chin. It is supposed to be a lover’s caress but his movements falter when skin contact is fully made. It’s one of the moments Jack and Emily are supposed to be trying to pretend that the ground of their relationship isn’t rapidly deteriorating beneath them, not one where he shows hesitation. That subtext is supposed to come out in the next few scenes today, not in this one. Maybe it can still work if they cut it correctly. Keep moving. Who has the next line, is it you?

As soon as you are freed from your marks he ducks his head to have his eyes on level with yours, “You’re burning up. Are you ok?”

“It’s just the lights. I’m fine.” A bottle of cold water might help. Ben follows you to grab some water for himself. You try to perk up after downing a few gulps but he isn’t buying the act. It’s just the pair of you standing there at the moment so you speak quickly. “I just haven’t been getting that much sleep. With everything that’s come out about the – my _stalker_.” The word doesn’t sound right leaving your lips.

The man that had destroyed your things had been into your hotel room so many times during your stay. When you’d found out about it you’d been nauseous. At first he'd broken in just to sit in the same place you’d been. Then he’d started to touch your things – to feel closer to you – was how the police said he’d phrased it.

Then you’d won your award and met Tom, started dating Tom. The man had seen that as a betrayal. He’d taken your bracelet to initiate a way to meet you, hoping that you would announce the fact that it had gone missing and he could step forward and be your hero. You had picked up and gone to London instead.

You shake your head. “My life has been very interesting since I listened to Mark and accepted the role in Touring Sundays.” You take another sip of water. You’re safe. You're doing what you love. You have a job so you can pay your bills. Be thankful. “Sorry for complaining. I’m just tired.”

You notice the director waving you back and you nod, pushing the cold tension within you aside to hear how you might need to adapt your portrayal of Emily. The director actually just wants to discuss the next few days with you – they're talking about starting to film the car crash scene as early as tomorrow! Ben really should be hearing this too, but when you look over he’s answered his phone and is in the middle of what looks to be a heated discussion. He catches you watching him and turns to prevent you from being able to read his lips, quickly ending the call when he notices you walking towards him.

"We might start filming the crash sequence tomorrow." You watch him drain the last of his water in a few gulps. "Bad news on the phone?"

Benedict hems a bit, spinning the now empty water bottle around in his hands. "Complicated. Nothing that can't wait until after work." 

He'd better not try to slip away after the day to avoid telling you what's on his mind. He's not the only one allowed to be a concerned friend. That's not the way friendships work, not in your opinion at least. 

The way Benedict says _Em_ reminds you of the way Tom stutters through sentences when he is thinking. It’s funny the little things that remind you of the people you care most about. Benedict isn’t quite yelling his lines but your close proximity combined with the viciousness of his delivery nets the same result. The argument the pair of you will be having in the car will be tortuous if today is any indicator.

“You know Em, you said yes and I don’t know why. I’d like to think it’s love but – in all the time I’ve known you…” Benedict is edging closer to you, coming off his mark by a step or two. “I’m not sure anymore. You bring out the worst in me, Emily. You’re – you’re _toxic._ ”

There needs to be one more attempt of the scene but a phone call comes in delaying the filming. After a moment of standing around Benedict gives you a big bear hug which makes you laugh, “What’s this for?”

“To help you shake off Jack’s words.” He gives your shoulders another squeeze before releasing you.

“Actually, I think I need to take them to heart, not shake them off.” It may have been Jack’s words to Emily – accusing her of never saying that she loved him – but they just as easily could apply to you and Tom. You’d come close so many times, and you’d told him you _adored_ him, but that’s not quite the same thing. You could hurry back out to your trailer to try to hide out and talk to him, but you’ll lose most of your free time walking rather than on the phone with him.

You spy the media room door ajar meaning that it isn’t currently in use. Excellent. Nobody dares to walk in there when the door is shut. Benedict watches you cross to the doorway, curious what you are up to. Everyone else seems to be occupied with their specific tasks. You put your finger to your lips and hold up your hand signaling _5 minutes, please_. 

You fidget while waiting for Tom to answer the video request. This is something you want to do while seeing his reaction, not just hearing his voice. How are you going to go about this? Just blurt it out? Sure. Why tiptoe around something you should have done months ago? Maybe this is what is fueling the strange barrier that has been growing between the two of you.

Tom is in mid-sentence when he answers the call. “…be just a minute I need to take this.” He looks back at the screen and you see a flash of annoyance before he smiles at you. “Hang on I’m trying to find a quiet space.”

The words that had been on your lips fizzle a bit. He’s busy – is this really the time to tell him you love him… Will it even mean anything when done over the phone? He’s not on set - the area he is walking through doesn't immediately strike you as resembling any of the photos he's sent you since starting the job. He's certainly not in costume - he's wearing one of his favorite shirts. Plus he wouldn’t have answered the phone since the whole project, location and all, was supposed to be a closely guarded secret.

There is still background noise when he stops walking and focuses on his phone, on you, but not nearly as much as before. “Is everything alright?”

You nod. This conversation is starting out rather awkwardly. “Good, everything is fine. I just…” Light knocking at the media room door interrupts you. “Fuck. Really? Hang on I’ll be right back…” You smile at Tom and leave the phone on the table to answer the door.

You open it only a crack to find Benedict standing with his back to you. He mutters while still looking out at the rest of the crewmembers wandering around, “They’re looking for you.”

You glance back at the phone and sigh, “Can you buy me a few minutes?” He nods and you shut the door again, wandering back to the phone to overhear Tom talking to someone. It seems neither of you were truly able to find a quiet spot to talk to each other.

Hmm but you recognize that voice – it belongs to one of Tom’s exes. "Being here brings back so many memories from last time.” 

You have to remind yourself that you don’t know the context of the conversation, or why they’re hanging out together, wherever they are. Maybe they just happened to run into each other around the city. A city which is supposed to be secluded. Secluded enough to have crappy reception. There are any number of reasons why…

Tom’s lighthearted chuckle stops your stream of logic, “It really does. Order us another and I’ll be back before it arrives.”

When you sit down you can see he is still looking off towards where you can only assume she is standing. The look on his face wounds you more than hearing how his voice changed while talking to her. He's happy with her, relaxed. Such a sharp contrast to every rare video chat you've had with him recently. You try not to let it show on your face. “Sorry about that Tom. I thought I had a few minutes but, well I guess we’re both _a little busy_ at the moment.” That came out with a bit more bite than you’d intended.

Tom draws his eyebrows together at your tone. “It’s the life. It’s ok to take some time for yourself. Ben said you’ve been filling your off days from production with other jobs.”

“Please don’t scold me for taking the offers while they are coming in.”

His reply is clipped but cautious at the same time. “I’m – not. I don’t mean to at any rate. I’m guilty of piling the projects on as well.” He tries to joke with you, “Pot. Kettle.”

You force an empty laugh and shake your head. “Yep. Pot. Kettle. Look, I should go. Talk to you later?”

“Sure. Was that all? Just a quick hello?”

Now that you’ve seen him flirting and doing God knows what else with his ex, yea. “Yep just a quick hello. Missed you is all.”

He calls your bluff. “You looked like you had something on your mind when I first picked up.”

“Nope. Go on back before your order arrives. Shouldn’t make your company wait.” Shit. You let your exhaustion and irritation get the best of you.

Tom blinks at you. “Now wait – that’s not…”

You don’t want to hear an explanation right now. “It’s fine. Enjoy yourself. I’m going to go back to my overextended and unhealthy schedule.”

“Come on _____, that’s not what I said.” You’ve flattened your mouth into a thin line and shake your head in response. He huffs out a sigh of frustration and wipes his hand over his face, “I’m sorry, did you call to let me know that we’re fighting? That’s what it feels like. Did Benedict say something to you?”

“Benedict? What? Don’t bring him into this.” Oh fuck it all. “No Tom. I called to tell you that I love you. I love you, and I’m an idiot for it. Goodbye.” You end the call before he can close his mouth and form any sort of reply.

Nauseated is definitely not how you’d anticipated feeling after telling Tom you loved him. Your phone shudders in your hand showing that Tom is trying to call you back. You press ignore. And again. And again. Before another request comes through you turn off your phone, pocket it, and leave the media room. Time to get back to work. Time to focus on something other than the wild range of emotions coursing through you at the moment.


	27. Chapter 27

Benedict spies you waiting for him through the mass of crewmembers. You haven’t forgotten about his phone call, despite the melodrama concerning your own. You’re all too happy to push aside your heartache to try to help a friend in need, if you can. He tries to ask you about it right after you emerge from the media room but you stonewalled him until the pair of you are swept back up into the final scene for the day.

Most of the crewmembers are busying themselves with getting out the door, back to their daily lives. There are a few lingering as you and Benedict discuss the events of the day. He mutters to you, “Mind telling me why Tom’s called twenty times since we last spoke?”

You scowl at the floor. “I turned my phone off after yelling at him.”

You look up to catch a pained expression on Benedict’s face. “I _told_ him…”

“You know?! He’s been telling you about the project?!” Some crewmembers look over from their conversations, briefly, but look away just as quickly.

Benedict looks confused, “The production? What?”

“Wait. What are you talking about?” You take a breath, trying to dissipate the surge of anger and betrayal you’d just felt.

He shakes his head, “Nothing. Well, something, but it’s not the right time.”

You press your fingertips to your temples. “I’ve just about had it with the both of you and surprises today. Out with it.”

“Ok. Ok. Right.” He claps his hands together before rubbing one over his mouth. “I’ll tell you on one condition. You have to explain the twenty phone calls and the yelling.”

You roll your eyes in irritation and turn your hand over, “Fine.”

Benedict nods, satisfied with the deal. “Before we met you… No, that’s not how I want to start out.” He inhales, rubbing at his ear before moving his fingers through the lightened curls atop his head, “Tom is – No, that’s not right either. I have a tremendous love and respect for the both of you. That being said there’s something that I’ve been needing to say for a while now.”

He sighs and looks pretty much everywhere expect _at you_ before finally settling those impossible eyes on you again. “Christ this is difficult. That night – that night that seems so long ago now. You, you saw him, Tom… And I – I saw you.”

Oh this day is determined to make your heart hurt. 

You open your mouth to start to reply and he shakes his head slightly to relay to you that he isn’t finished. 

Oh fuck. 

“I saw you and I wish – I wish _with all my being_ that I had been the man that you had seen first but I wasn’t. _I wasn’t_. There is no changing that. I’m not telling you this to make you uncomfortable. Promise. Like I said – I thought the timing wasn’t right, but Tom prattling on about having all the cards on the table, as the saying goes...”

Your mind is reeling. Benedict just admitted to being attracted to you from the start. The pair of you have had intimate scenes together. On the one hand he had finally experienced something that he’d been denied, but wanted for himself. On the other hand, what he had experienced was a playact in front of an audience, and with the loved one of a close friend. He’d probably been in his own little hell this entire time. He hadn’t been wrong earlier when he’d stated that the topic of his phone call had been complicated.

And Tom. Tom had insisted on laying everything out. Easier to give advice than take it, eh Thomas? You’re furious with Tom at the moment and the list of reasons why seems to keep growing.

“______?” Benedict speaks your name hesitantly.

You wet your lips with your tongue to awaken your mouth. “Oh Ben.” He can tell from your apologetic tone that he isn’t going to rejoice over your response. He flinches slightly when you reach out and touch his arm which makes you sever the contact immediately. You’re at a loss as to what to say.

He raises his eyebrows, trying to make light of the awkward pause after his profession. “Ah – so – a promise is a promise. Twenty…No, _thirty_ phone calls now.” He looks down at his phone briefly before returning his attention to you.

Oh fuck. It’s your turn to keep your eyes averted. “I’d called him to tell him I loved him….”

You look up to find Benedict looking mildly shocked. He recovers nicely, “You said you yelled earlier. You yelled at him to tell him you love him?”

“It wasn’t the plan, no. But then I saw him enjoying what appeared to be a night off with…” Your nausea is creeping back. You shake your head. “Whatever. I just want to go home and sleep.”

Benedict looks between you and his phone, “Thirty-one now.”

“He’s your friend. Hear him out if you want.” 

You resolutely ignore all the crewmembers watching your exit from the building. You’ve never been so happy to see Richard waiting by the car to take you home. 

It is blessedly quiet at home. Richard hadn’t pushed too hard for details. He’s witnessed your side of the relationship, for the most part. He knows you’ll tell him the rest of the story when you’re ready. You didn’t bother to ask how much he and Tom discussed. You haven’t turned your phone back on yet. If Benedict’s call count is any indicator you’ll be flooded with voicemails and messages that you just don’t feel quite ready to face yet. The first thing you do once walking in the door is take something to hopefully wipe out the aches that have kept you off kilter all day.

At the moment you’ve got your head pressed down onto your arms. You’re nearly folded over upon yourself at the coffee table that sits before the loveseat Tom had given you. You’d started out curled up on the cushions themselves and then somehow ended up kneeling on the floor instead. You’re physically and mentally drained. Maybe you are trying to take on too much. You certainly could improve your choices for meals – fast food and things that are quick and easy to fix don’t counterbalance the extremes you’ve been pushing your body to lately. Your trainer from Touring Sundays would be furious.

The tears start slowly, seeping through your closed eyes, accumulating on your eyelashes before dripping down onto your arms or the table – depending on positioning. It’s a silent release of emotions. The outpouring increases in intensity until your nose is stopped up and you’ve seemingly developed a salty path from your eyes down the side of your nose. You’ll need to wipe up the puddle of tears that you’ve created on the table before it leaves a permanent watermark.

Getting yourself up off the floor from the awkward position you’d seated yourself in is the hard part. Once standing you’re just irritated with yourself. What happened this time? You’d opened yourself up and ended up in the same place you always do. Frustration. Anger. Heartache.

How might you normally lift your spirits? Tom – but since he is one of the two people directly responsible for your current internal roller coaster that option is out. Both of you had let the relationship get to this point though. Both of you are at fault.

You desperately need to vent. Who else can you talk to about this? Matt? Mark? Your parents? Benedict? Each option you come up with you find several reasons why it would be a Bad Idea. Maybe you should have taken up Richard on his offer to be your sounding board. No, the only person you need to direct this frustration at is Tom. He does deserve a chance at defending himself. You swat away the small part of you whispering that this plan is also an extremely bad idea – you’re just going to turn your phone back on and listen to any messages he may have left, you reason. If you’re still able to hold your temper in check then maybe you’ll try talking to him. Maybe.

You half expect the phone to start ringing the moment you turn it back on. But it doesn't. Does that hurt more, instigate more irritation than having Tom still attempting to contact you? You dial into your messages, ignoring the numerous texts. You’ll read through those once you reassure yourself that you’re livid with Tom and can’t stand to hear his voice. The first five messages are all him. The second you hear him speak your heart starts to argue with your head.

“______? Damn it.” Click.

“______? Please pick up…” He’s moving around, probably trying to pace in that small nook where he’d tried to find solitude to talk to you. Click.

“Damn it woman stop ignoring me.” Click. There was a bit more background noise in that one.

“And now it goes straight to voicemail. You turned your phone off? Tell me you didn’t block my number. ______ _answer your damned phone_.” He sounds angry now. Good. You’re angry too.

“For fuck’s sake…” Click.

The next message is from Richard. He must have left it while Tom was still trying to connect with you either through your phone or Benedict’s. “______ if the schedule for the day changes at all let me know otherwise I’ll be there when we discussed to pick you up.” He’d wanted to get the car detailed. You’d been so preoccupied you hadn’t even noticed.

Your phone alerts you to an incoming call before you make it all the way through Richard’s message. You stare at the screen, your finger hovering over answer as you argue with yourself over the wisdom of answering Tom’s call. Your internal debate rages on even as you press accept. You don’t greet him but sit staring at your phone – at least it wasn’t a video chat. You’re not sure you can look at him right now without the result being you throwing the device across the room.

“______?” Tom clearly hadn’t expected you to answer. You hear rustling and a brief curse before he speaks again. “______? Don’t hang up.” He pauses. “______? Darling I –”

You’d wanted to sit there and bite your tongue – prove to yourself that you could hear him out. Hearing the pet name makes you lurch forward from your seated position on the loveseat and hiss at the phone. “ _Don’t._ Don’t call me that.”

There’s that bite of anger that you’d heard in his messages. “ _Darling_ , can you please, please set aside that stubbornness – just once – and talk to me about this?”

You’re up and pacing the room. Your plan for maintaining the hold on your temper is firmly off the table. “What’s there to talk about Tom? She’s there and I’m not. Now I’d tell you to stop calling and harassing your friends – or is that too stubborn of me, too?”

You’re both yelling now. “For fuck’s sake woman – will you stop turning my words around?” 

If you could reach through the line to strangle him you just might do so.  Why the hell had you turned your phone back on? 

He huffs, “Oh this is ridiculous. Darling I’m …”

“Tom I said _stop calling me that._ ”

“I’m trying to tell you _I love you, too._ ” He’d tried to deliver that with a note of gentility, which was more than you could say of your own admission.

You throw your hands up into the air and bark out a laugh before returning the phone to your ear to continue talking. “Oh for the love of… No, you don’t get to say that to me.”

His patience is wearing thin as you continue to argue with him. “And why the hell not? It’s the truth. What has gotten into you? Fuck!”

“The truth? You are an absolute asshole if you think you can try to tell me you love me and be with her too.” You’ve stormed your way back and forth across the living room and have ended up in front of the framed notes he’d given you. Either from the wide range of emotions, the extra stress, or all the yelling – you just might throw up after you hang up the phone.

“There’s an explanation…” He’s trying to speak over you but the both of you end up speaking at once.

You close your eyes, “Oh good, that’s a fucking huge relief.”

“That I can’t tell you, yet.”

“Right.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Of course not. God you’re so judgmental Tom – everyone else has to tell the truth. Even Ben. Why the hell would you tell your best friend to admit to your girlfriend that he’s had a thing for her all along?”

You’ve made him pause. When he speaks he isn’t quite yelling anymore, “What the hell are you talking about? Ben told you what?”

You shake your head, “Oh don’t worry _sweetheart_ \- He told the truth. Hell, maybe you thought getting him to do that would distract from your behavior. I don’t know. At this point I’m not sure I want to try to understand.”


	28. Chapter 28

How long have you been on the phone with Tom now? Half an hour? More? Less? It’s certainly the longest you’ve been on with him in weeks. The background noise on his end continues to change during the fight. “Do you hear me accusing you of anything with Ben?”

Really. That’s route you’re taking for your argument, Tom? You narrow your eyes, glaring off towards the kitchen of your place. “That’s work and you know it.”

“Lunches, drinks, weekends spent –”

So he has been keeping up with all the continued media coverage regarding the _Battle of the Brits_. “You pick a fine fucking time to let me know that that bothers you. There’s nothing going on _on my end._ ”

“Augh! Listen to me! I’m not accusing you of anything! I’m just - I don't know - I'm jealous, alright?!”

You pace back across the room again. “Jesus Christ, Tom. There’s nothing to be jealous of! If you hadn’t goaded him into it he wouldn’t have admitted anything to me today and I'd still be none-the-God-damned-wiser. Besides, if you weren’t off God knows where with _her_ then maybe it could have been us in those photos, and not me and Ben.”

Tom’s still denying any wrongdoing and you’ve argued so long with him that he is sputtering his thoughts out. “I can’t – I don’t –” He pauses to let loose a tone of disbelief, “Ah. This is ridiculous. Darling, I’m not with her!”

“I know what I saw, Tom.” You grit your teeth, “And stop calling me that.”

“No.” He spits out his reply. After a deep breath he starts again. “Will you stop focusing on what you want to hear and listen to me?”

“Why? And if you say _because I love you_ I swear I’m going to hang up.”  You have to turn your back on the framed love notes on the wall. Even that doesn’t really help. You still know they’re there.

“Oh you'll hang up. What good will that do? You infuriatingly stubborn woman!”

You usually aren’t one for talking with your hands but tonight you can’t seem to express yourself without some sort of hand motion. “It’ll keep me from being the one that is making you so miserable, for starters. Just go back to the fun you were having with her.”

“For the last time – I’m NOT. WITH. HER!”

He roared that last bit. You pinch the bridge of your nose and shake your head. God you just can’t listen to this anymore. You mutter his words under your breath before replying at full volume, “For the last time – you know what – Maybe, maybe that would be easier… for the time being–” Your head may be done with all of it but your heart is screaming for you to shut up. Make the words stop before you complete the sentence and regret it. Stop stop stop. “…Maybe this should be the last time we talk.”

You keep your eyes closed, shutting out everything but Tom's voice. He sucks in a breath. “You’re angry. Not thinking clearly. You don’t mean that.”

Did you mean it? Now that you’ve said it there’s no backing down. It hurts like hell to say, even when you say it barely above a whisper. “Yes. I do.”  

In his reply, each time he pauses and searches for words your heart clenches a little bit more. “Look – just – wait – when you called earlier –”

“Tom. I’m hanging up now.” 

That’s the second time you’ve hung up on the man you love. Loved? Love. You may be furious with him at the moment but you still love him. Maybe you’ll calm down and call him tomorrow – or the next day – or maybe next week. It would do him good to stew on it a bit.

The silence that had been such a relief upon walking in the door to your place is now anything but comforting. Oh fuck you really are going to throw up.

If you thought you’d had trouble sleeping on nights before this you now have something to compare to and say, no – this night was the worst out of all of them. You end up getting maybe a half hour of sleep before getting up again to complete your normal morning routine and heading in to work. It’s sheer force of will that keeps you moving. Well that and another dose of the strongest pain reliever you can find in your medicine stock that will still let you keep your head on straight.

You put on a happy face for your paparazzi running buddies. By some small miracle no one has heard about the massive fight between you and Tom. It’s only a matter of time. You’d made sure you were in the privacy of your own home – you hadn’t bothered to find out where Tom had been.

You settle into the chair for makeup, nodding to Benedict when he wanders in. One glance at the other crewmembers in the room and you know that the news about the fallout between you and Tom may not have hit the gossip circuit yet, but the news about Ben admitting how he feels about you has already made it through the fully functioning grapevine on set. The interesting thing will be to hear how it has morphed into a full blown profession of love with rainbows and fireworks and God knows what else.

“So - yesterday...”

“I’d really rather not talk about that right now Ben.” You twirl your fingers around in the air to mime that the pair of you aren’t alone in the room.

Benedict watches the few other crewmembers intently before they get the message and find somewhere else to be for a few minutes. Once the room is clear he resumes the conversation. “Yesterday was one massive miscommunication.”

You huff out a laugh before you can stop yourself. “Alright we’ll go with that.”

He raises his eyebrows at you, “I’m not saying I regret what I told you. Far from it.”

You watch him closely. “Let me ask you something. Assuming I hadn’t demanded you reveal the conversation you’d had with him yesterday, would you have ever admitted anything to me – or would you have just kept it to yourself?”

“I had certainly planned a better moment, in my head. Before you’d started dating Tom would have been ideal. After that it became a waiting game. Who knows, maybe it would have been a way to garner some laughs during a wedding toast.”

You look down at your lap. The image he just conjured up in your head shimmers momentarily before shattering. The only sound you can make in reply is a short: “Hm.”

When Benedict speaks again he is half muttering under his breath, half talking to you. “You really did it didn’t you. I didn’t believe him when he told me...”

This day is going to be difficult enough without dredging it all back up again. You shake your head sharply to cut him off. “Let’s not talk about it. Ok? Let’s just get through the day.” 

Maybe it will be therapeutic – vent out all your frustrations on set. Probably not though. Something tells you it is going to be a long day stuck sitting in a car filming everything leading up to the exact point of the crash. They’ve got two other units filming today, your stunt doubles working on another soundstage where they are being filmed in a controlled flip, and the on location filming of the live action crash.

On the bright side, at least you’ve recently had real life practice arguing with extreme emotion pouring out, plus Ben has given up trying to talk to you about Tom in favor of concentrating on the scenes.

The first time you try to chuck the ring at Benedict you can’t get the ring off your finger in time and end up sending Benedict into a fit of giggles as you frustratedly try to work the damn thing off. You end up getting it over your knuckle and leave it at a point where you can easily slip it from your finger. You’ll just have to remember to keep your hand out of sight of the camera until the time comes to throw the ring again. You focus on either maintaining Emily’s cool rage at Jack or adopting your usual cheery demeanor between scenes. Sometimes you succeed, other times you catch the mask slipping.

A few more decent takes pass by with the ring bouncing off his chest and falling into his lap. Fling – the ring arcs from his collar bone down into the floorboards and it takes a good five minutes to find it again. “Just think if we had extras of these we could just leave them littered around the car after every take.” Ben mutters while blindly groping under his seat.

You manage to hit him in the shoulder more than a few times - and then you nail him in the forehead. Both of you watch as the ring arcs through the air and spirals off across the dashboard. Once it settles you blink at each other before breaking into laughter. Laughing feels good - helps you feel less hollow.

Instead of heading back to your trailer during lunch you take your food with you to wardrobe to enjoy the flurry of activity. Now that you’ve forced yourself to be on the go all morning you’re actually feeling a bit closer to normal. What was the saying? Oh yea:

Fake it till you make it. 

It is an exhausting day spent sitting in a car, and you weren't even in the one that would be tossing you about like a ragdoll - an extremely well restrained ragdoll. They talked you and Benedict through the rigging, how you'd both be strapped into the seats and how the mechanism itself would function. Your stunt doubles appear no worse for wear. 

Tomorrow. They plan on running it through with you tomorrow and then film the scenes. There's no way you're going to mention that you aren't feeling 100%. Your excitement over getting to do the stunt has all but made your muscle aches disappear. The one person you want to call and share your excitement with is the one damned person you're not talking to right now. 

You haven't listened to any more of the voicemails from yesterday - haven't looked at any of the texts that Tom had sent either. The count remains the same. Since you hung up on Tom the second time he hasn't tried to contact you. 

Richard raises his eyebrows at you when he pulls up in front of your place and your sidewalk is filled with photographers. He knows why they’re there, it’s his job to know, but he’s waiting for your ok to talk about it. “Want me to circle the block again?”

You sigh. “No.”

He’s started to dig into the center console, “Want to wear my hat and glasses?”

“So they can get shots of me hiding and say I’m miserable?”

He’s waiting for the traffic to move so he can pull up alongside the building. “Well – you look miserable.”

Crap. Your forced smile had slipped again. You made an exaggerated face at him, “Better?”

Richard shakes his head while he parks, laughing a bit under his breath. “Alright. We’ll just fake business as usual then.”  


	29. Chapter 29

 That night is the start of the onslaught of questions that stings with every syllable.

“What came first _____? The fight with Tom or Benedict’s declaration?”

“Are you and Benedict dating now? Going to start?”

“Who broke it off? You or Tom?”

You can’t keep smiling so you let your face fall into a neutral expression. 

“It’s been a long day guys. Please let us through.” The group moves only slightly. Richard, bless him, is the only reason you’re making any headway.

 “Did he ever compare you to her?”

“How long has it been going on? Since London?”

Richard finally gets you through the crowd but the last question makes you freeze in your steps. The crowd on the sidewalk takes that as a sign that you’ll start responding and move forward, their shouts growing louder.

Before you can fully turn to start yelling at whomever asked the question Richard yanks you back into motion. After he shuts the door behind the both of you he rounds on you. “Never, ever, stop like that.” You nod, still trying to figure out exactly why you wanted to yell at the person who’d spoken.

Every day follows the same format now. You run. You work. You eat. You sleep. Repeat. You’ve taken to wearing headphones during your morning routine to tune out the continued questions. Eventually they’ll stop, right?

The photos circulating are worse that hearing the same damned questions day after day. They publish images from when you had gone out to lunch with Ben during the Jack & Emily production next to ones of Tom out with his ex and then make comparisons. Worse still are the ones of _you_ and Tom compared to the pair of them. _His body language here speaks volumes…_ He’d clearly moved on.

You thought about starting to use your off days to go home to find a safe haven from all the insanity. Doing that would only cause the media to follow and descend upon your friends and family back home. And the job offers continue to pour in. Might as well do something that will keep your mind busy. The steady work does nothing when you have to fight through the sea of paparazzi to get anywhere, particularly when you have to battle through them to gain entrance to what now appears will be a permanently lonesome home.

You’d bought it thinking you’d be at a different point in your life, thinking failed relationships were a thing of your past. It’s just slightly too large for one person. To try to prevent fuel from being added to the fire you stop inviting Benedict over. You even turn away Matt when he asks if he can bring over ice cream and alcohol and daydream with you about the Touring Sundays sequel. You’ll be spending time with him soon enough.

Despite all the media attention the friendship between you and Ben is still intact. Apparently the same can be said for that between Ben and Tom. Benedict hasn’t yet given up hope that you and Tom will reconnect, though. Every time Benedict tries to broach the topic you quickly steer the conversation elsewhere. At first it was out of anger, then out of stubbornness, and finally, now – it is an unwillingness to drag Tom back into the media mess that is your life.

You’ve tortured yourself enough with the same series of photos - Tom in the arms of his ex. Some days you have your finger hovering over the call button, determined to end the silence that has stretched on for so long. In this last week of filming before the end of Jack & Emily you’re to the point you’re willing to stay nearby when Ben’s on the phone with Tom, just to hear Tom’s voice. Unless Richard or Matt have been fielding phone calls from Tom as well, this is the last week you’ll be able to do that.

When Ben rings off this time he shakes his head at you, “______, you know he calls whenever he knows you’re around in the hopes you’ll take the phone from me and talk to him.”

It’s a nice thought. Not true, probably. But still, a nice thought. “No he doesn’t, Ben, but thanks for saying that.”

You’ll start filming the Touring Sundays sequel soon, which adds another layer of torture into the mix. Every new detail you learn you want to share with Tom, fanboy over the film that he is – was. Did he only like the film because you were in it? Just in case, you tell Benedict a few details, knowing the information will work its way to Tom. The rest of the revelations about the project you leave for the announcement at the upcoming convention they’ll be having in town. They haven’t specifically asked that you attend but you’ve never gone before and the timing is perfect. You’ll even get to see Ben taking part in a panel.

Richard cocks his head curiously at you as soon as you mention wanting to go. “I thought you’ve had your fill of crowds lately.”

“Ben asked me to go. Last big hurrah now that we’re nearly done with Jack & Emily.”

“I’m surprised you’re taking a day away from some form of work.” Richard chuckles at you. You’ve kept him busy shuttling you around town, which probably hadn’t been the original plan when he and Mark spelled out the details of being your bodyguard.

You consider Richard for a moment. He’s not exactly arguing against you going, just not fully supporting it either. At work the next day Ben is thrilled to hear you’ll be at his panel. “You and Richard just need to go to this specific entrance and –” he hands you the passes you’ll need along with a map of the building so you’ll go to the right door. “You’ll love it _____.”

You’re still studying the map. “So where in this maze will you be for your panel?” None of that information is on the sheet. You glance up at Ben questioningly.

He ruffles his hand through his hair. “I made you a custom copy. You didn’t need all the information for the rest of the week on there. Hall H.” As soon as he points you see his handwritten labels over the massive room. It will be quite the panel.

For the entire week of the convention your morning running group has pretty much trimmed back down to the initial dedicated group. It seems there is finally something else that better attracts their attention and you can finally run without having your music blaring in your ears.

Peace, finally – until you and Richard get to the convention. There are people everywhere – some in costume, some not. You let Richard navigate the way through the building while you tap out a message to Benedict to let him know you’ve arrived. You get a response quickly. 

_Previous panel is running long. See if they’ll let you in the back. Once things calm down I’ll meet up with you._

You relay the direction to Richard who nods and continues his beeline through the crowd. You try to read the board beside the doors to see what panel was running long but Richard is partially blocking the words. You can at least spot Benedict’s name towards the middle of the board – had Ben even told you the movie title? You’re a horrible friend, you can’t even remember. Richard already has the door cracked open just enough to let the pair of you enter.

You pocket your phone, only just remembering to make sure it’s on vibrate as you enter the overly large room. Benedict wasn’t wrong when he said they were running long - the question and answer period is still going on. You aren’t really paying attention to what is being said, instead looking up to the front at the screen to see the well-traveled photograph of Tom and his ex. You really should amend that in your head – she’s his girlfriend now – _you’re_ the ex.

That’s when the screen switches back to video and you can clearly see the panel members. At least seven people sit behind the long table onstage. There, at the end of the table, sits Tom.

God damn it Ben. You set this whole thing up.  


	30. Chapter 30

When you round on him Richard starts to murmur, “Just stay put and we’ll explain everything…” He waves his hand to the side and you follow his gaze to see Bruce heading your way and closing in fast.

You’re tempted to turn and walk right back out the door, but how would that look? Walking into this panel has completely thrown you though. Why had the had a picture of Tom and his e--  Tom and his _girlfriend_ onscreen? You steal a glance at the screen to see Tom turned, listening intently to the person seated down the table from him. Is that the director of the ‘secret’ project he’s been working on?

“______. Good to see you.” Bruce has made it to you, hesitating only slightly before reaching out to shake your hand in greeting.

A few people in the back row have turned around, annoyed that someone has come into the panel so late, and then is making _noise_ on top of it.

Your heart is doing flips. You should just walk right back out onto the convention center floor. You suppress the urge to flee in favor of giving Bruce a hug hello. “It’s – unexpected – but good to see you too Bruce.”

The commentator is instructing the crowd: “Last few questions. Those already with a mic only.”

Bruce steps back and looks from you, to Richard, and back again -- looking a bit crestfallen. “Oh – I was sorta hoping you’d shown up because… well, nevermind.” He looks a bit uncomfortable now and tries to turn the conversation elsewhere while the three of you wait for the panel to end. “So Richard – she still insist on sprinting first thing in the morning?”

“Used to – followed by treating everyone, paparazzi included, to coffee afterwards as a reward.”

Bruce chuckles, “She tried that with us – Tom outsmarted her then. Hid her wa… Oh…” He frowns at himself a moment before apologizing, “Sorry _____.”

You smile. It was a good memory that he had summoned. Humorous now that there was a bit of distance - even if it was immediately followed by a pang in your chest. You glance back up to the panel where Tom sits. “It’s fine Bruce. He did.”

You tune out the guys as they quietly talk logistics regarding providing security detail while trying not to appear winded from running. They’re going down the table, answering whatever question had been asked. It’s nearly Tom’s turn to speak. You’re not even really listening to the words, but the intonation as he speaks. You’ve missed this – him – the passion that seeps out with every word. Eavesdropping on Ben’s phone calls isn’t the same as being in the same room and feeling that spark. Somehow something is lost over the phone lines. “What can I add to all the answers previous? To my mind the real pull to the roles…”

Oh hell this isn’t healthy at all. You shake yourself out of the trance you’ve fallen into. Time to move on already, ______. He’s sitting next to the person he's replaced you with, for Christ’s sake. You fully intend on tuning back in to whatever hushed conversation is ongoing between Bruce and Richard but your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’d only just turned it on vibrate and it _still_ makes you jump.

CUMBERBATCH. Oh good – just the person you want to scold at the moment. You hold the phone up to show Richard that you want to take the call and step back towards the back wall of the room and cup the phone to your ear. “Did you seriously think this was a good idea?” You hiss into the phone.

Benedict chuckles, “You’d better keep your voice down or you’ll get thrown out.”

“What makes you think I’m still waiting for your panel and not halfway back to the car?” Richard looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. You shake your head and wave your hand at him to indicate _We’re staying here. Stand down Rambo._

“I can hear Tom, for starters. And going back to your first question. Yes. Richard and I agreed something had to be done.” No wonder Richard had been in such a rush to cross the convention floor. Benedict sounds so pleased with himself. You’d wipe that grin off his face if you only knew where he was hiding backstage.

Tom is still rambling on through his answer and the entire audience is captivated. No wonder the panel had gone long. “You should have just told me –”

“Would you have come?”

You turn your back on the room, blocking out everything but the phone call. “Maybe.” Ben releases a huff of disbelief and you turn back to look at the stage, at Tom. “Fine. No. I wouldn’t have.” Tom’s finally concluded his response and they're trying to figure out who is next to ask a question. 

You had answered the call intending to scold Benedict and yet somehow _he_ had ended up being the one scolding _you_. “Exactly. This silence has gone on long enough. You need to talk to him. If you’d gotten to the panel sooner…”

“I would have had more time to yell at you before your panel. He’s sitting not two feet from her. Look, I saw the photos of them when I walked in. You need to leave it alone, Ben.” Don’t start pacing. Don’t start pacing.

There’s a bit of fumbling over the speakers preceding a sweet little voice, “I um – hi. I had a question but um I just thought I’d point out – um Tom? ______’s here. In the back… um there.”

Wait. What had she just said? Your grip on your phone falters sending it clattering to the floor. You're torturing yourself just listening to his voice - you don't need, or want - his attention directed to the fact that you're here and struggling while being this far removed from his presence.

Tom’s voice booms over the speakers, “What?”

“Fuck.” You look at the stage to see Tom jerking to his feet.


	31. Chapter 31

Tom is shielding the stage lights from his eyes to search the back of the room in the direction the fan indicated. Bruce attracts his attention with a small gesture and a head nod and your heart stops. Damn it all – who _hadn't_ Ben talked into helping him set this up?

Your eyes are stuck on Tom, his on you. Don’t flee. Don’t flee. Choose to stand your ground rather than turn away from him. The last time you had found him in an overly large crowd had been the night you’d met him. You’d been left immobile that night, standing there waiting for him to make his way to you. You are decidedly not dumbstruck this time around.

This time you feel anger, anger over everything that has happened, and heartache, and damn it all, you don’t want to love him anymore but it’s there too. He lifts his hand in a small, hopeful, hello. You had not come here for him. There's no sense in giving him hope. You give your head a hard shake. _No Tom._

He steps back, sending his chair skittering across the floor behind him and turns to start striding off the stage to make his way through the room. Shit. The room is rapidly descending into chaos. Half the crowd is watching Tom, half of them have turned to try to find you standing in the back of the room.

Nope. This is not happening.

“God damn it, Tom.” You’re not ready for this. You spin and burst back out the doors.

The doors bang open just about the same time Richard, Bruce and a few others call out your name. “______? ______! Stop!”

You should stop. The deal was that you would stick with Richard today, no matter what. You just keep walking, hoping to disappear in the crowd. The lines of people waiting to enter the room for the next panel don’t know quite what to make of you bursting from the room. You need to get back out onto the floor where you can blend with the mass of people.

You’re nearly jogging now, trying to duck out of sight before Bruce, Richard, and anyone else they’ve roped into pursuing you, can spot you. Shouts follow you and you hear the doors to hall H bang open once again.

“______!”

“Stop her - somebody stop her!”  

“______!”

You’ve made it beyond the organized line waiting for the next panel to the outskirts of the convention floor. There’s something niggling in the back of your mind – something about being chased – what was it? Resist the urge to continue to run as you’ll be easier to spot among those milling about. Bruce and Richard are quick on their feet, though. You’ll never outpace them. And Tom – Tom with his legs that go on for miles. You’re at a distinct disadvantage. 

Oh please let the crowd work in your favor.

Keep winding through the crowd – which direction though? If you stay towards the outer line of booths maybe you can duck down a side hallway and call Matt or someone to pick you up. No – you dropped your phone back in hall H. Well, there goes that plan.

You can still hear your name being shouted over the noise of the many conversations taking place but it’s not as loud as it had been to start. Maybe you’re extending your lead on them? Funny how someone can be shouting a random name in a crowd and so many different people turn to look – they can’t all be named ______. What in our nature makes us turn to look even when we know we are not the ones being summoned?

Someone closer to you says your name, with more of an air of curiosity. Someone ahead of you – behind you? Shit you’ve gotten yourself turned around by merely pausing to look for the source. You should have picked a stationary object to work your way towards and track your progress through the massive room.

Maybe pausing to talk will make them overlook you? They’ll be looking for someone trying to hurry away from them, right? It’s a fan, who had said your name. She repeats herself, her eyes wide. “______. It _is_ you. I thought Jodie was kidding!” She’s typing furiously into her phone and still talking. You continue to second guess yourself. Keep moving or stand here… you don’t want to be rude and have that thrown at you as well in the impending media frenzy that you will undoubtedly experience over the next couple of days. “You know they’re all looking for you.”

You nod, using that as a tactic to return to making your progress through the crowd. “Yes… and I…” You look away from her in the new direction, or maybe the old one, that you’ve decided to walk in and find John pushing through the crowd right towards you. “Shit. Um, which way towards the bathrooms?” She’s got a map – silently you’re pleading with her – _Help a girl out here._ She points off to your right and you immediately start worming your way through the crowd in that direction. Her words that follow you are lost to your ears. Something about Tom?

The next time you hear your name your throat closes, both in reaction to the proximity of the speaker and the rush of emotions. “______.” There seems to be a bubble forming now – people pausing their adventures to watch the unfolding events. Of course Tom has caught up with you. “______. Please.” He loops his fingers around your wrist and pulls you up short. This is becoming a convention spectacle.

His touch brings forth conflicting commands from your brain – _turnabout and establish further contact_ is battling with your Touring Sundays training pushing you to _break the hold he has on your wrist_. During the few months your relationship lasted the pair of you had tried to keep intimate moments private, for the most part – this display is anything but. 

He’s with someone else now, too. What is he even doing chasing you down? 

You adjust your stance ever so slightly in preparation of forcing him to release you. “Let go of me Tom.”

If he does what you ask you’ll try to continue to push through the crowd, and he knows it. You won’t get far – there is a wall of people now watching and blocking your path. 

Moments before you react he mutters a word of warning, “Don’t…”

He mostly blocks your blow to break his grasp on your wrist. He can still anticipate your actions easily, damn him. It takes you a moment to meet his eyes. “Do you really want to do this here? Now?”

“No, of course not. But I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity, seeing as you refuse to respond to me otherwise.” 

He has started moving his thumb over your wrist gently despite your blow to his hand. His hand has to be hurting him but he doesn’t seem to notice. “It’s been three months, ______. I’ve missed you.” 

You pull your hand free, just barely containing the urge to smack him. “You’ve had company.”

Tom furrows his brows together. “If you’d only let me explain that.”

You’re trying to keep your voice down so the entire world won’t be privy to the details. The pair of you have started this conversation before and it led to you cutting yourself off from the man you love. You can’t hang up on him this time, since he’s standing before you.

“Explain? Why do you feel the need to explain. It’s what happens in long distance relationships. She was around when I wasn’t.” A thought occurs you to, standing here in this small clearing on the convention center floor. “Oh Jesus, Tom. Did you really just walk out of your own panel?”

He shrugs. “You ran.”

Bruce clears his throat and both of you turn your heads to look at him, annoyed. "What?!" 

Bruce points to his own ear mutely, then clears his throat again, "Tom. You're still wearing your mic." 


	32. Chapter 32

You haven’t spoken to Tom for months for a damned good reason. Leading up to the very last time you’d talked to him, things had so frequently fallen apart that continuing to struggle through the relationship just didn’t make sense. Why, for the love of all things, the pair of you ended up standing in the middle of a massive crowd playing everything out for all the world to see is utterly beyond you.

“Just go back to your panel.” You shake your head and turn to try to find Richard, who you know must be close by watching the proceedings.

Tom had started to lift his hand up to his ear to touch the mic with an expression of surprise, not realizing that in his hurry to follow you he’d left the earpiece on. He leaves the mic where it sits when he notices you trying to sauce out a way through the crowd. “No. Wait. ______, damn it. Don’t walk away from me.” He reaches to halt your progress again, this time the motion makes him wince. He’s starting to feel the impact of where you’d tried to break his grip on your wrist.

Guilt washes over you. You’ve injured him – now in so many more ways than one. The least you can do is listen to whatever he wants to get off his chest. You sigh and motion to the surrounding crowd, “Alright, Tom. I’m listening – but this is anything but private.”

“If I wait for private, you might not hear me out.”

You look pointedly around at the onlookers, past Richard, John, and Bruce as well. “Well, apparently I’m not going anywhere right now.”

Someone in the crowd shouts, “Speak up!”

Oh hell. Your cheeks are starting to burn. Get this over with already Tom. You roll your fingertips at him to get him to start talking. He wets his lips while watching your blush intensify and gives you a small smile in return. Damn it Tom, stop flirting and speak.

“God I missed you, darling.” Your heart does a flip just hearing that one single word tumble from his lips – his word. _Darling._ Oh Christ. Get a grip on your emotions. You’re hearing whatever it is he is so determined to say and then maybe this whole drama can end.

“The best place to start, I suppose, is that I never cheated. Never. It’s _only_ been you. It’s always been _you_. So stop telling me to go back to someone who remains firmly in my past.” You move to take a breath and speak but he tilts his head up slightly, “Ah – hearing me out. Remember?”

You roll your eyes and nod. He may say he never strayed, but you remember that damned video chat where you’d caught him with her. Overlooking that, there was still the breakdown of communication, the stressed-out, standoffish behavior that had encompassed nearly every phone call. If he hadn’t been distancing himself from you to focus on her, why the cold shoulder?

He starts to rub at his hand, the one you’d hit, while he thinks. He’s probably going to need to ice it. “In a blink we went from an odd patch which I thought we could recover from to a full-fledged argument which ended with us not on speaking terms.”

“An odd patch? Tom we couldn’t have a conversation without one of us getting short with the other.” You hadn’t meant to say anything. You’d promised to listen but the thought shot out of your mouth before you could stop it.

Tom nods. “Granted. But again, I figured we could work through that. That there’d be a quiet weekend or – I’d been talking with Richard trying to coordinate something and surprise you – but you kept taking jobs, and I couldn’t get away.”

You’d located Richard earlier so you glance over at him to receive a nod of confirmation. No wonder Tom had sounded strained every time you excitedly reported another commercial booked or interview scheduled.

And now there’s a cameraman pushing through the wall of people that are recording the moment on their phones. Apparently the panel Tom had been a part of was still ongoing and they weren’t satisfied with a mere sound feed of the conversation.

Oh hell.

“You could have said something, Tom. Screw surprising me.”  

“I did, or at least tried to, and had it thrown back at me.” He’s blatantly ignoring everything going on around the pair of you. Those crystalline eyes have found a weakness in your wall of anger and are boring a hole through it. “I said things I regret, too. Snapped at you when I shouldn’t have – purposefully chose to say things that would wound because of my own frustration.”

“Because you were an idiot and were jealous of your best friend being in a…”

He exhales and tilts his head down to give you a stern look. “Yes. Now please, stop arguing for a minute and listen. I had been trying to work out how tell you all along that I was acting alongside someone I’d dated in the past, but I'd signed an agreement so I _couldn’t_ say anything until certain announcements were made. _That’s_ what I was talking about with Benedict – I was trying to talk through how and when to tell you without revealing things I’d agreed not to.”

Tom, the man that can’t bluff to save his life, had been forced to keep something from you. It fully explained the brevity of his phone calls. You should have seen it – maybe you _would_ have seen it if you hadn’t been so busy retaliating against what you perceived to be his annoyance with you.

“The day of that disastrous final phone call was the day we’d been working on material meant as part of the promotion for the movie – for this, today. Someone had managed to snap unauthorized candids so we knew that would be an issue to deal with – but we’d also managed to get last minute access to a location and film everything we needed despite time restraints. Complications aside, it was a good day. The entire crew had gone out to celebrate afterwards…” He stops massaging his hand to run the non-injured one over his chin. “And then, you gloriously stubborn woman, things went massively massively wrong. You called and saw what you did and…”

“I jumped to conclusions.” You speak before he can shush you again. You can’t pull your eyes away from his face now.

“Yes, darling. You did.” 

How is he still looking at you like that?

You try to gulp down air, “And wouldn’t listen when you tried to explain.”

“No, darling. You wouldn’t.” He lets you stand there and process everything for a prolonged moment. “The leaked photos didn’t help matters, but by that point you weren’t speaking to me anyway. I should have called the very next day -- but I was trying to respect your choice, give you the space to calm down. I was being stubborn too – I kept telling myself that you’d have a change of heart and call me tomorrow, or the next day. Then a few days turned into a few weeks, the weeks turned into a month, two… Benedict was furious with me that I let it continue.”

He pauses again to give you a chance to say something but words aren’t forming in your mind at the moment. You’re just trying to keep your heart from collapsing in on itself. 

Keep your heart beating. Keep breathing. Don’t cry.

Tom looks down at the floor and runs his hand through his hair. “I thought I’d be clever about getting you to talk to me again. Get Ben to help me out, too, since I couldn’t just show up at your doorstep. He told me your schedule so I'd know when to call and pray that you wouldn’t walk out of the room when he’d greet me. Poor Ben. I would ramble on about just about anything in the hopes that you’d hear my voice through the line and… I don’t know, miss me enough to call? Evidently Ben got tired of listening to my mutterings and hatched his own plan. And thank God for that.” As an afterthought, remembering that he’s still wired and Benedict can hear every word, he chuckles out, “A little _notice_ regarding the plan would have been nice though! I never expected – I couldn’t cross the room fast enough once it was pointed out you were there.”

And you had run from him. He must have panicked. No wonder he was still wearing the mic. Benedict had roped in everyone to help him with the plan except the _one man_ who really needed to be aware of it.

Ben had been telling the truth about the phone calls. You’d worked so hard to convince yourself otherwise – that Tom was happy, reconnected with his past flame – when the reality was that he’d been just as miserable as you were the entire time.

You can't pull your eyes from his. Why doesn’t he hate you for the pain you’ve caused?

Tom tilts his head to the side, “Do you want to know how I knew everything was going to work out – despite your determined refusal to talk to me?”

Oh please don’t say anything else, Tom. Can’t he see that you’re already on the verge of losing it?

“The key.”

You use your confusion to battle back the sting of tears and find your voice again. “What?”

He searches your face, smiling broadly. Now that he’s gotten you to listen to him he knows the long silence that had existed between the pair of you is over. “You never sent back the key to my place.”

“How’d you know I didn’t just throw it away?”

He nods, “Because I know you. I know it’s still on your keychain.”

You choke back a half-laugh, half-sob, “So you were – what – going to just wait me out? Why bother with someone who didn’t trust you enough to listen?”

Tom quirks his eyebrows in amusement, “I thought that part was obvious, sweetheart. I love you.” 


	33. Chapter 33

Three little words. Three little words were all that it took to make you inhale oxygen and exhale the heartache that had been haunting you these past few months. He still loves you, despite your determination to cause him pain. Thank goodness Tom’s stubborn streak ran in your favor. Tell him he can’t do something, he’ll do it anyway -- and excel at it just for good measure.

“I love you too, Tom.” You feel the first few tears escape and trickle down your cheeks. Tom’s eyes are starting to water too. Oh hell – one of you has to be the strong one. If you both break down in the middle of the convention center floor…

Richard must have started moving as soon as you started to cry – he’s shoved himself between the camera and where you and Tom are standing. “That’s enough now.” 

Oh thank God.

The crowd is just as caught up in the moment as you are. “Kiss him! Kiss her!”

Tom doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls the mic off his ear to let it dangle by its cord from his collar and scoops you to him. Logically, you know the floor is still beneath you, but you’re having a hell of a time remembering how to stand. Your whole body is humming in response to the passion, the need you're feeling from Tom. Dear Lord you’ve missed him.

John starts talking to the person holding the camera while Richard and Bruce work to maneuver you and Tom back off the convention center floor. Tom’s hand finds the small of your back, as it has so many times before. He maintains steady contact as the pair of you are shepherded through the crowd, as though you’ll disappear if he stops touching you for a mere second. 

You murmur to him as your little group makes progress off the floor, “Christ, Tom. You can’t kiss me like that in public.”

He shifts his hand a little lower when he leans to you to respond, his eyes twinkling. “Can’t I?”

 _That was not a challenge, sir._ Aside from a slight redness to his eyes he appears outwardly composed – not true, most assuredly, of your own appearance. Maybe you’ll delay finding a mirror so you won’t have to see how the encounter has affected you.   

Some of the staff from Tom’s panel have made it out onto the floor and are flagging Richard and Bruce down. The security team will have tripled in size if they join the proceedings. “We need Tom back for the meet and greet.”

Tom stiffens slightly but nods in acknowledgement. He shifts his hand around from your back to travel down your arm and take your hand in his, pulling it to his lips to draw your attention. “Will you come with me?”

“I’d promised Ben I would watch his panel, Tom.” His face twitches into a micro-expression of worry, prompting you to add, “But I’ll join you soon. I’ll watch – what, half? – and then come find you.”

Benedict would probably understand if you told him you wanted to spend the time with Tom, but you’d made a promise – besides it would be awkward to stand there observing the signing, or prove a distraction – neither of which you want. You also need the time to consider Tom’s words, maybe even form some of your own in reply. What’s going to happen when he goes back to his job and you to yours? Will things fall apart again? 

At the end of the day you’ve all ended up at a nearby bar and Benedict is retelling the story for the umpteenth time. He raises his glass in reference to you, “Could practically see your resolve crumble when he told you he loved you, ______. I knew as soon as you started crying Tom would, too. Everybody back in hall H was cheering – and the last _fucking_ thing you see or hear is Richard walking up and palming the lens and blocking the shot, saying:” he drops into near perfect mimicry of Richard, “ _That’s enough now._ ”

Poor Ben had missed the big payoff from his extravagant plan to get you and Tom back together – he’d been deprived of the kiss. Every few rounds of drinks Benedict retells the story, each time the setup becomes a little more elaborate. Nobody seems to tire of the story – or maybe everybody is too sloshed to remember he’s told it before. All the people that you’d wanted to meet when Tom had been at the event in New York are now being introduced to you. Most delight in the fact that Tom now has a bag of ice on his hand – you really had landed quite the blow to his joints despite being unable to dislodge his hold. Yet another thing you’ll never live down.

Tom removes his arm from around your shoulders to adjust the ice and test his hand, waiting for Ben to pause in his narration to pick up the thread himself. “You also missed the ensuing battle over getting the recording from the camera operator.” He nods his head towards John, who allows himself a small, satisfied smile and pats his pocket.

Everything had taken place in the middle of the convention center floor - one recording out of circulation won’t make a bit of difference, but it appears to make the guys feel as though they were useful. As a three man security team they did keep the crowd from swarming the pair of you during the whole exchange and thereafter – well done them.  

When Tom picks up his glass to down the last of his drink and winces from the motion, you feel another wave of guilt. “God, I’m sorry about that Tom.”

“She must’ve not been trying all that hard. She nearly took my hand off when she did that to me.” Richard chortles, holding up his own hand for reference.

Tom smirks at you, “I don’t know. Felt like she was pretty damn determined. The bruise is worth it, though.” He glances at his watch before looking back at you, “We still have things to discuss and I’d rather not leave it all for tomorrow before my flight… Anyone mind if I steal her away?” He doesn’t really wait for the reply from the group at the table, not that anybody objects. The bar is definitely no place for this conversation.

You've only had time to talk briefly with Tom, in short concise spurts, since the supremely-public reunion. Scheduled events and other people had constantly interrupted the continuation of the conversation. You’d watched most of Ben’s panel before leaving to join Bruce and John watch Tom interact with fans. You had become absorbed in the details of Ben's panel – you’d forgotten that he had only been able to be in Jack & Emily with you because of a highly fortunate ‘rescheduling’ of another project.

"I'm sure we can find a quiet place to talk nearby." Tom had read your mind. "My hotel is close?" 

A quiet, private room... your libido votes in favor. There's still guilt and hesitance washing around inside your brain, but the alcohol has helped to quiet those reservations. There will be so many ever-watchful eyes at the hotel, though. "My place is close, too." 

There’s a brief discussion regarding the excessive security team you and Tom have now, having all three of them shepherd the pair of you around really isn’t necessary. John and Bruce end up going back to the hotel where Tom had reservations, leaving Richard to drive the pair of you to your place.

At your door, Richard looks uncertainly from Tom to you – not knowing if he should wait around to take Tom to his hotel after your discussion. You send Richard on his way - if the pair of you can’t stay in the same space after you’re finished talking then Tom can take a damned cab back to his hotel.

Tom smiles triumphantly when you produce your keys and the key to his place is still hanging amongst the others, just like he’d said. “Nobody likes a know-it-all, Tom.” You tut at him as you unlock the door.

“Not worried about anybody but you, and you love me.” 

You pause just inside the door to roll your eyes at him.

He’s too busy taking in what you’ve done to the place to notice the look. That’s right – he hasn’t seen it save for the virtual tours you’ve given him via video chats. You let him wander through the few rooms unguided while you argue with your libido - conversation first, then satisfy other urges. What is the best opener for the conversation? Maybe if you hadn’t stayed out drinking your brain would be clearer.

Tom reappears in the living room while you are lost in thought, “I like it. Suits you.”

“Thanks. I um…” What else do you say to that? If you’d been here you could have helped decorate? Nice segue and perfect way to potentially drive him away again with wounding words. He may love you but he hasn’t said anything about forgiving you for your mistrust, yet.

His eyes have drifted over to the framed love notes that still hang on the wall. “You didn’t take that down?”

You shake your head, “No I ah –“ What had been your logic there? You’d just avoided looking at that wall, at that whole corner of the room, really. “No. They’re still beautiful, even if they…” you pinch the bridge of your nose. This is not the best way to resume the conversation. “…even if it was pouring salt on the wound.” You give him a small smile and shrug, “Stubborn.”

Tom huffs out a laugh after seating himself on the loveseat and runs his non-injured hand through his hair, “Yes. You and I both. I did mean what I said before, every word. I should have continued to call, every day, until you answered so I could explain things. We might have avoided all this.”

You hesitate a moment before sitting next to him. Again you have to push aside the urge to forego conversation. “I was angry. I wouldn’t have listened, even if I had picked up the phone.” You study him, “Why aren’t you angry? I’d be furious if I hadn’t done anything wrong – and why the hell do you keep apologizing? I’m the one who should be repeatedly saying she’s sorry.”

He arches an eyebrow, “I’m picking my battles.” When it's clear you're not going to accept that as his only answer he continues, "I _was_ angry - and frustrated - but while you instigated the silence, the blame for what happened can't solely be placed on you. Dwelling on that isn't productive." 

“Well it needs saying anyway. I am sorry." It feels wonderful to finally say it, "I'm sorry Tom, I’m sorry I didn’t show more trust. Sorry that I lost my temper. I’m sorry I let the media coverage of our relationship influence me so much…” You try to shield your face with your hands but he snags them and holds them in his own so you have to face him. “But hell, Tom, won’t things go right back to the way they were? We’ll both be working all the time and–“ You smile wryly, “Obviously we’re both prone to jealousy.”

Tom is brushing small circles over your wrist with his thumb, “We’ll just have to work on that. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, about any of my exes, if that’s still a concern.” You shake your head. Some things need to be left in the past. “And regarding work: We can compare schedules right now, if you want. Plan a few quiet weekends.” The glint of longing, desire, is unmistakable in his eyes.

The conversation isn’t over, not by a long shot, but Tom’s thumb tracing circles over your skin is driving you to distraction. You lick your lips and sweep one hand free from his grasp to attempt to still his motions. “Alright. Weekends here or… wherever you’re filming?”

He nods, pulling one of your still captured hand to his lips before speaking, “And we’ll be filming near beaches soon. Sun. Sand. Hopefully a little privacy...”

And a lot less clothing. He’s obviously battling the same urges you have been since the kiss in the convention center. Oh quit fighting it. You lean toward him, stopping just short of kissing him. “So you forgive me for being a stubborn ass?”

He takes advantage of how close your lips are and pecks them lightly. “Oh – I think you’ll be earning my forgiveness for a while – if you’re interested.”

You smirk at him and stand. “Ok.”

"Ok?" Not quite the reaction he was expecting. He looks momentarily perplexed. “Um – darling, where are you going?”

“There’s a perfectly good bed right in there.” You motion towards your bedroom with a laugh.

Recognition dawns, though he is slow to get up and ensnare you in his arms again. “Are you sure it’s safe? I remember watching you put it together…”

"Keep talking Tom - find out just how comfortable it is to sleep on that loveseat." 


	34. Chapter 34

Tom has one of your hands trapped in his own as you lead him from the living room into your bedroom. He spins you back to him as though the pair of you are dancing. As a result of your buzz the motion continues even after you’ve twirled back into his arms. You grip his hand tighter, resting your head against his chest to anchor yourself from falling over from the perceived residual motion. “Oh spinning – let’s not do that.”

Tom plants a kiss on the crown of your head, “As you wish.” He waits, unmoving, until you lift your head again. His heart is beating out a steadying rhythm within his chest. “Better?”

You stand on tiptoe to brush your lips against his before settling to the floor again. “Yes – so – you were saying something about a beach…”

He runs his hands over your shoulders and down your arms as you take a step back towards the bed. “And other amazing scenery. Supposed to be headed to the Hawaiian Islands.”

“Oh that’s close. Very do-able – though, still what…” you start trying to calculate the flight time in your head.

“Five hour flight, at least. Yes.” Tom nods. 

A fresh wave of guilt worms its way through your buzz. Tom had researched the flight times from where he would be filming to where you were, all while you were still shutting him out. You catch a glimpse of the same micro-expression that you’ve seen cross his features all evening – pain. He’s trying to rally against the deep wound you’d dealt him. He’d worked so hard to break down your internal defenses just to get to know you, then came to love you – and in a heartbeat you’d shut him out again.

You really are going to be earning his forgiveness for a long while. You offer up a smile, “So just like usual weekend travel times.”  The micro-expression appears again as you settle back onto the bed with him pinning you down. You arch an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“It’s – hmm – nothing.” He tries to distract you by kissing down your neck and finally gently sucking just above your collar.

Your brain is offering up quiet suggestions as to the next move but you are determined to hear him out even if it kills you. “It’s something or you wouldn’t keep making that – ah – face.” You’d almost gotten the sentence out without letting the moan interrupt.

He nips at your skin before chuckling. “Oh you stubborn woman…” He pushes himself up so he is supported by his forearm and elbow while his feet are still planted on the floor. “It would be easier to form a coherent thought if you’d stop looking at me like that.” You roll your eyes, and he closes his, waiting until he opens them again to speak, “We’ve both been drinking.”

“Very astute of you.” You can still taste the hint of mint from your mojitos – Tom’s whiskey too, as a result of his mouth exploring yours. Your skin is still tingling where his mouth had roamed. “Is it the bed? I swear I followed the directions… Just because I thought I lost a piece when I really hadn’t…”

He is momentarily still hovering over you. “No, sweetheart. Stop rambling about the bed. The bed is fine. I like the bed.” He kisses your forehead and shifts so his arm is fully extended. He still has you pinned to the bed, but only just.

What is bothering him? He’d been kissing you back, showing just as much interest – right up until you’d gotten to the bed and then there’d been a flicker of doubt.

Tom shakes his head and chuckles at the face you are making, “Oh don’t worry, I plan on resuming our activities, but…” He pauses and you see that little micro-expression of doubt show itself again before he continues. “Where was I? Until today we haven’t been in contact for months…”

You wince. “I’m sorry about that, Tom.” Now the alcohol on your breath leaves an undesired tang and an annoying fuzziness where you’d much prefer the usual solid reassurance of logic.

 He nods in acknowledgement, reaching down with his free hand to run his fingers through your hair. His reply is quiet. “This isn’t just desire and drink. It certainly plays a part, but – I didn’t chase you down today just for this.” He’s trying to choose his words with care, even in his distracted state. “We’re good together when we’re not stubbornly standing in our own way.”

You smile up at him, “Agreed.”

“So we’re not sleeping together tonight just to have me fly out tomorrow morning.” Your brain understands the way he feels, but your body is protesting the statement. He laughs and settles back down to kiss you, “And I can see already that you plan to test my resolve on that. But I’ve made up my mind and that’s just how it’s going to be.” He cups your face in his hands, “Just promise me one thing.”

You’ll be trying your best to honor his request but there’s no way you’re promising to play fair. 

You lick your lips before responding. “Hmmm?”

“Promise me you’re not going to change your mind in the middle of the night and push me away again in the morning.” His eyes are searching yours, trying to seek out the answer. 

Oh you have a lot of apologizing to do. His concern makes complete sense – he’s trying to protect his heart from your stubborn whims.

From where your arms are resting on his torso, you give him a small squeeze. “For the record, I regretted the decision to cut you out of my life as soon as I’d said it. I was just too stubborn to take it back.”

He nods, “Noted. Now about tomorrow.”

You lift yourself up to kiss his lips, “I promise – no more pushing away the man I love.”

The joy you’re used to seeing radiate from his face is back, “Say it again.”

You know what he wants to hear but you’re too focused on trying to ensure that that smile remains on his face. “I promise I won’t…”

Your words are cut off by his laugh. “No darling. The other part.”

“Hmmm.” You trace your hand down his side, “Oh, that – I love you.” You’re rewarded with the touch of his lips to your skin.

You attempt to wiggle free from under his weight to move further onto the bed but are unsuccessful. You delight in the frustrated noise he makes before speaking with his head resting on your shoulder, “Darling…”

“I’m not – I’m trying to –“ You give up moving around beneath him, “Trying to let you get onto the bed. Standing there like that can’t be comfortable.” 


	35. Chapter 35

Turns out there’s plenty to do to satisfy bodily cravings while still holding to Tom’s decision not to sleep together. When you wake up you can feel the weight of Tom sleeping in the bed beside you and you smile into the sheets.

It’s the first morning in a while you’ve woken up and not felt heartache. You stretch your limbs a little bit, not wanting to jar the bed too much and wake him. You close your eyes while lying there on your stomach, listening to him breathing.

His low chuckle alerts you to the fact that you weren’t as careful as you'd thought. “I’d forgotten how restless you are in the morning.” You can feel the bed move and then his lips press against your shoulder blade.

You bite your lip and shift your head to look at him, “I was trying not to wake you… Hmm what time is your flight? Do we have time for breakfast?”

“There’s plenty of time.” He stays right where he is, just breathing and soaking up the close contact while he has you hugged against him.

You stretch again, this time rolling and leaning further back into his body while you let a contented yawn escape. “Alright – we can see what I have in the kitchen then.” Tom doesn’t reply, instead keeping your body pressed tight against his and wandering his hand up your figure before dropping his arm over you to let his fingertips trace across your abdomen. When his hand starts traveling downward you swat his hand away. “You used up every last ounce of my willpower last night, Thomas. Stop it.”

“Ow.” He mutters into your shoulder.

“Shit! Sorry!” Why the hell was he using his injured hand like that? You pop upright in the bed and spin to him, trying to figure out if he is just teasing you or if it really had hurt when you’d just smacked him.  No – he wasn’t kidding. Your face falls. His wrist has a lovely bruise as a result of the events of the previous day. “Oh Tom – look at your hand…”

He flexes his hand around while he speaks to prove his words, “I’m fine. Still functions. It’s nothing they can’t conceal with a bit of makeup.”

You crawl from the bed still battling your guilt. If he had just let go of your wrist on the convention center floor he wouldn’t have the bruise – but you wouldn’t be waking up next to him either. On the bright side – you’re not hung-over from the many rounds of drinks consumed last night.

You dress in your running gear but Tom only has the clothes that he’d been wearing for his panel. He foregoes buttoning up the dress shirt which provides you with a lovely mental image to store away for later.

Over breakfast you try to form a strategy with Tom regarding his departure from your place. You ramble on while Tom sips at his coffee. “Do you want to go ahead and call Bruce and John? You might still be able to head out before my usual running group shows – though after the convention yesterday – we might have a few others out on the sidewalk as well… Maybe it would be better to let them follow me running and _then_ have John and Bruce come?”

Tom shakes his head, setting the mug down on the table before him, “And skip out on the morning run? Not a chance.”

You look pointedly at his attire, forcing your eyes back up to meet his. Tom is being a tease and loving every second of it. “You’re going running. Like that.”

“They’ll bring my bag with them and we can all go running together. It will only take a second to change.” He takes a bite of food while you shake your head at him.

“I – alright. But it’s nothing like running in the park. I think you’ll laugh at the duckling train once we get started though. Now – where’s my phone…” Richard had managed to retrieve your phone from where you’d dropped it in hall H but where had you put it? Was it in still in the pocket of your pants that had been tossed into the laundry basket?

Tom motions over his shoulder, “With your keys on the table by the door.”

Richard doesn’t sound entirely thrilled with the idea but he warms to the thought considerably when you mention that John and Bruce will be joining as well. He arrives only moments ahead of the other two, the last man in the door carrying Tom’s travel bag. While Tom is changing everyone waits in the living room chatting. “Quite a few more than just the usual group out there, ______.” Richard jerks his head over his shoulder towards the sidewalk. You hadn’t dared peek out to see the condition of the street.

“And more followed from the hotel.” John adds. “If the pair of you think you’re actually going to do any running today, you might need to reevaluate.”

You shrug helplessly, “I tried suggesting that Richard and I go for our usual run to lead the group away so Tom could leave and get to the airport but he didn’t much like that plan…”

Bruce barks out a laugh, “You do remember he ran out on the panel so he could chase you down yesterday, yea?”

“Oh yes – vividly.”

Tom reappears, splaying his hands wide as though to clap them together before remembering that such an action probably wouldn’t be wise. He is addressing the group but watching you closely, “Alright. Everyone ready for this?”

“The guys don’t think we’re going to get to run this morning.” You pull your hair up into a bun while you speak.

Tom snags your hat before you can retrieve it from the loveseat. “Well that would be a shame – we’re already dressed for it.”

You’re trying to take the hat back without bumping Tom’s injured hand – of course he’s taking full advantage of your hesitance. “Are you sure you don’t want to skip out and just go on to the airport?”

“I distinctly remember someone promising me she wouldn’t push me away this the morning.” Tom scolds you while continuing to play keep away with your hat. 

You momentarily internally panic at his words but his eyes are still sparkling with joy and you're able to push the panic aside. He's going to remind you of that every chance he gets from now on. Not that you don't deserve it but - joy. “Oh you stubborn man.” 

Tom settles your hat on your head, wiggling it just slightly from his hold on the bill. “Pot.”

“Kettle.”

Richard sighs, “Oh for the love of – running? Flight to catch?" 


	36. Chapter 36

The first chance you get you leave a weekend free to fly out to visit Tom. It has taken a few weeks to work out, but that has given the pair of you time to work through the odd starts and stops that sometimes still appeared in the relationship. Both of you were doing your best to ensure you were back on level ground with one another.

It’s been maybe half an hour since either of you have said anything, content to laying in the sun and listen to the waves crash on the shoreline. Your environment is starting to lull you to sleep. Something urges you to open your eyes. You hadn’t heard him move, but Tom is now half sitting up and watching you with a lazy smile that even after so many months of knowing him still makes your heart do flips within your chest. “What?”

He startles, unaware that you’d returned his gaze through your dark sunglasses. “Hmm. Nothing.”

You bite back a smile, “Liar. What?”

“I’m glad you’re here – that we’re here.”

You study him a moment. That’s part of it but there’s still something he’s holding back. “I’m happy we’re here too – but that’s not the reason for that smile, I think.” You turn onto your stomach so that you can prop yourself up on your elbows and talk to him without craning your neck. You’d flown in late yesterday and would be leaving again sometime in the afternoon tomorrow so no major adventures had been planned. Sightseeing waterfalls or hiking would just have to wait. You start to trail your index finger through the sand to draw out little patterns next to your beach blanket. “That’s alright though. You’ll tell me when you want to… You keep your secrets, Mister Hiddleston, and I’ll keep mine.”  

“Secrets? What secrets, darling? For you, I am an open book.” He’s settled back onto his elbows.

You reach over to press and release your fingers into his shoulder. “Hmmm, Tom - you’re starting to turn a little pink.” He’s had far more time to soak up sun than you and yet he’s the one who appears slightly pink.

Tom lifts his own glasses to look down where you’d indicated to see the imprint of your fingers fading back to the pink/tan mixture of his complexion. Funny how some sunglasses can hide that sort of thing from you. He’s still smiling that same lazy smile, “So I am.” He seems content to remain exactly as he is.

 You push yourself up onto your knees and hold out your hand. “Lotion? If you won’t reapply I’ll do it for you.” Well – you say reapply. You want to get up and move around a bit and know just the way to motivate him. You make a show of brushing any sand off your hands while he finds and holds out the lotion bottle to you. You make him pop the lid and squeeze some out into the cupped palm of your hand. You spread the lotion around on your hand and then – SPLAT. You leave a nice white handprint across his pectoral.

You wait for a split second to see Tom’s start to laugh and reach to retaliate before you pop up onto the balls of your feet. You’d been quick, jumping beyond the beach towels, but hadn’t been able to clear Tom’s expansive reach. “You’ll pay for that, darling.”

You still have more lotion on your hands so you use it to try to make his hands slick so he’ll lose his grip. “What? It’ll leave a nice tan line so you’ll think of me when you look in the mirror.”

There’s that same contented smile that you’d seen when you’d felt him staring earlier. “I don’t need your handprint there to think of you…” he wipes his hand over the opposite shoulder to collect some of the sunscreen you’d applied, “But if I’ve got one then it’s only fair you’ve one to match.”

You snag his hand before he can apply the sunscreen to whatever area of your skin he had in mind and use your free hand to blend the palm print into his chest. “That would hardly be fair, Tom. Your wardrobe covers considerably more skin than mine. Let’s not add more work for the makeup department.”

Tom adjusts his stance in the sand so that the pair of you are closer to eye level. He has one arm successfully circled around your waist now and you know that you probably have nice wide smears of lotion across your sides and back. “Speaking of the movie…”

“I haven’t learned anything more since last night!”

He’d started grilling you for details the moment you’d landed, continued all through dinner, and hadn’t relented until he’d become distracted later in the night. He arches an eyebrow, “You didn’t mention anything about your wardrobe.”

“I did.” You correct him. The pair of you would be quite a sight for anyone stumbling upon the secluded beach – wide swatches of sunscreen smeared across your bodies and playfully struggling with each other. “Described in perfect – ack – detail…” Tom successfully manages to wrangle both of your hands into his grasp and grins triumphantly.

“Hmm, I’ll need reminding then.” He kisses your neck, pauses, then starts to laugh. “Bleh – sunscreen. A problem easily solved." Without warning he rights himself and slings you up and over his shoulder, heading towards the little outdoor shower beside the bungalow where the pair of you are spending the weekend. 

He’s trying to pick his way carefully over the uneven sand so he isn’t jostling you around on his shoulder but it still isn’t the smoothest of transports. “Oh no but you’re going the wrong way – crystal clear water is the other way!”

He laughs and gives your leg a squeeze, still determinedly striding away from the beach. “No darling, I’m _absolutely_ heading in the right direction.” 


	37. Chapter 37

“How’s Matt?” Tom’s trying a different tactic this time to worm details about the Touring Sundays sequel from you.

You smile at your reflection in the mirror. This morning they had chopped your hair short for the role and dyed it back to its natural color. You’d sent a picture to Tom to allay your fears – you’d never worn it this short before. The conversation had meandered back to him trying to learn everything he could about the movie. “He’s fine. Wandering around wearing the lei I brought back. Probably over with Andrew at the moment.” It had been a refreshing weekend spent enjoying the sun and sand alongside Tom but now you’re back in the land of pavement.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to come there before we wrap here.” He’d been so disappointed about that discovery. His production schedule was at the mercy of Mother Nature. Add to that what you’d been talking about moments before - the fact that Mark had said that the screening for Jack & Emily didn’t go over well with audiences… You’d both be too busy to fly one way or the other for a while. Your birthday falls in the middle of a week between now and when his film wraps as well – but since you’ll both be working you haven’t even bothered mentioning it. He’ll call and that’s all you really want – no big muss, no big fuss. Hopefully Matt and Andrew will respect that as well. You’ll be exhausted from work anyway.

You pick up and set things down absently while you talk to him. “Me too. We’ll see if I can work out here but…” You sigh out of frustration. “The ending for Jack & Emily fits with the overall message of the movie, though!”

“She dies, ______. And the movie ends with Jack an empty shell of a man. I’m honestly surprised that the studio execs didn’t insist on changing it before now.” He had said as much before, when he first read the script.

You’re nodding, as though anyone else can see your reflection. You roll your eyes at yourself and look away from the mirror. “Yes, yes – what’s it like being right all the time? Never mind – don’t answer that. Maybe they can cobble something together with scenes that ended up on the cutting room floor? That would be a great deal easier than figuring out how to snag both Ben and I again…”

He pauses while he thinks. “Hmm – they could always have you wrapped up in bandages to hide the changes that have already been made to your appearance? Or use it as part of the plotline – they had to cut all Emily’s hair for surgery and it’s growing in darker?”

Tom’s got a point. Unless they did some sort of time lapse as a payoff for the audience Emily would have massive trauma as a result of the wreck – presuming they changed the ending entirely so that she survived. “Or take the easier route and use a stand in – then they only have to find free time in Ben’s schedule and not have to worry about mine. Or hell – just show Jack finding and developing another relationship – maybe in a support group? Oooh – I’m going to suggest that…” You’ll be talking yourself out of the job but it’s at least something that is uplifting and maintains the integrity of the story. People have horrible things happen to them every day and somehow find a way to survive.

“Well, keep me updated. Otherwise we’ll just have to wait until filming has wrapped.” He pauses, “I was thinking – before coming back to LA I might stay over a few days in London – see the family. Is that something that might interest you? Meeting them?”

Interest you? “Yes!” You let out a nervous laugh after your exaltation. That had been quite the enthusiastic reply. You continue but bring the tone down a notch. “I’d love to – now I’m definitely going to suggest they have Jack find a new love interest. Tell me when to be in London and I’m there. Screw the work.”

Tom is laughing, “I wonder what Mark would have to say if he heard you say that.”

You tilt your head to the side to consider, “Hmm – hopefully he’d accept it. Realistically he’d probably sputter a bit first.”

“Who would sputter about what?” Matt is twirling your lei around in front of him as he walks in the room. “Oh is that Tom? Hullo Tom! Did you show him your hair?” You snag your lei back from him and gently hang it back on the hook that he’d stolen it from earlier. “She was worried about how it turned out but I told her it looks adorable.” He has settled near where you have the phone to your ear.

You hold the phone sideways towards him, putting Tom on speakerphone to continue the conversation. “I told her the same. She’s beautiful no matter how her hair is styled.”

Matt is grinning at you, “Tom – since you can’t see, she’s blushing.” He’s watching you as you try to swat him away, “It’s engulfing her entire face and – and now she’s trying to turn away.”

“Oh will you stop describing me!?” You disable speakerphone and pull the phone back to your ear, “I think I’ll let you go now. I love you, Tom. Talk to you later?”

Tom is still laughing but pauses to respond, “Remind me to make you blush like that the next time I see you…”

Oh hell. “Tom…” You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Alright darling, I’ll remind myself. I love you, too. It’ll probably be late but I’ll call tonight.”

As soon as you end the call you drop your phone on the countertop to free up your hands to punch Matt in the shoulder. “Oh I could kill you.”

“And then production would be delayed while they found someone to fill the role.” He rubs his shoulder while circling around to stay out of the line of fire again. “You really landed that punch by the way.”

You shrug, “What can I say, Sunday – my training stuck.”

Matt starts grinning, “Is that a thing now? Are we just going to start calling everyone Sunday? It’s a _codename_ , not a character.”

“I _know_ , Matt. I was in the movie too.”

He’s excited now, “Imagine the confusion it'll cause on set though. We’ve got to go tell Andrew.” He snags your hand to pull you along behind him to find the third musketeer and complete your little troupe. 


	38. Chapter 38

They had cake for you on set even though you made everyone swear not to do anything special. Matt and Andrew had lead an _extremely_ long rendition of Happy Birthday, making up verses and having the entire crew in stitches by the end of it.

Why had you expected them to listen to you and not make a big deal of it? You’d much preferred Tom’s early morning phone call and murmured birthday wishes – he hadn’t quite called early enough to wake you up, but close.

Now Matt has you cornered in your dressing room as you were trying to escape after spending all day running around the set with him and Andrew. “Oh c’mon Matt – I just want to go home and relax…”

“And deprive this wonderful crew from being able to celebrate with you. Just a few drinks – suffer through one more rendition of Happy Birthday – and _then_ you can have it your way.” Matt still blocks the door.

You cast a pleading look over Matt’s shoulder at Richard. _Please say you have another something lined up so that you need to take me home now!_ Richard shrugs while waiting for your reply. Your telepathic powers need work, obviously. You sigh, “Alright.”

“Excellent! Doubt we could have gotten our deposit back on the room at the bar anyway.” He sidesteps to let Richard hand you a garment bag that he’d been holding out of sight.

"Maaaatt." You sigh. Of course they'd gone so far as to renting a room somewhere. You accept the bag, frowning slightly before looking between the two of them. “What’s this?”

Matt makes a sweeping motion, referencing you head to toe. “You’re not going to your birthday bash in your jeans.”

You should have known the moment he appeared in your doorway dressed a little nicer than usual that he had no intention of letting you off easily. You should have skipped out immediately after the day concluded rather than delaying in the dressing room.

Matt talks to you through the door while you change. “Sent someone from wardrobe for it, what do you think?”

A fitted bodice and flowing skirt – the dress was in your favorite color, too. “I love it. Though now I’m thinking you won’t let me slip away after a few drinks.” You spin for the two men when you’re through changing. They’d even brought, well wardrobe had gotten, accessories to match the dress.

Richard and Matt try to lead you through the crowd towards the private room as quickly as possible. You delay their actions by stopping at the bar to order a drink. When they give you irritated looks you laugh, “What? You get me all dressed up - insist on coming out to drink and then expect me to bypass the drinking part?”

“There are drinks – and friends – waiting… oh never mind.” Richard gives Matt a look and then shakes his head, laughing because he knows you’re going to do things your way regardless of what either of them say.

As a result of the change of clothes you’re having to carry your phone, having left everything but your ID to get into the building in Richard’s car. While you’re waiting for your drink your phone buzzes. You’d sent Tom a text earlier to let him know you were done with your day – that was before you’d known about Matt’s plans to take you out. You sigh when you answer, “Hey, sorry. I know you can hear it in the background… Matt talked me into going out after all.”

“You don’t have to sound so happy about it, darling. Happy birthday again, by the way.”

You’d wanted to be at home so you could have a long video chat with Tom. You make a face at Matt while replying, “Oh I’ll warm up to it eventually. Just ordered a birthday shot – what was it called…?” Richard mutters the name as you accept the shot from the bartender, “A chocolate cake shooter.”

“Hang on don’t drink it yet, let me see what that even looks like.” You quickly accept the video chat, holding the shot up so he can view it. “Look delicious, ______. And you look delicious, too. New dress?”

You should have tried to go to visit him the weekend previous, or even scheduled something for this coming weekend. Hearing his utterance makes you want to down the shot and head right back out the doors so you can concentrate solely on him.

Neither Richard nor Matt would allow such a maneuver though. After swallowing the shot you smile at Tom and then look down at the dress, “Well, yes. Not sure if it’s mine or if it belongs to the wardrobe department though…”

Matt starts to herd you again, through the crowd and back towards the awaiting festivities, “Yours. Now why is it that he can wish you a happy birthday and not get a death glare?”  When you look away from the screen of your phone he laughs, “Yes. That look. Exactly that look. Tom, help me out here.”

“You’re on your own, mate.” You turn the sound up on the speakers so that you can hear Tom over the noise of the bar but even that doesn’t help so much. You have to hold the phone closer to your head to hear his responses. 

Matt’s muttering, “Hmm. Alright, I’ll remember that next time Hiddleston. And now - here we are…” Everyone bursts into song when you walk into the room that they’ve decorated with balloons and streamers. Another rendition of Happy Birthday. Joy. Tom has even joined in as the group serenades you.

_Happy birthday to yoooooou. Happy biiiiiirthdaaaay to youuuuuuuuu._

You wince at the few that have obviously been there drinking a little longer than the rest.

_Happy biiiiiiiiiirthday dear _______._

You turn your hand over in a rolling motion before you to get them to speed up the singing. Final verse. And go!

As they start to sing the last few words to the song you realize that Tom’s singing is coming in clearer. Is it because you’d turned the sound up so loud on your phone? Or that you’ve taken a step away from the overly loud chorus before you?

Nope. None of the above. Hands slide around your midsection as the finals words are sung and a gentle voice sings into your ear, “toooo yoooouuuuu.”

Your heart has leapt up into your throat and you spin to face Tom. He shouldn't be standing there before you but - there he is. He’s still supremely tanned from his days filming out in the sun. You’d looked past the fact that he was dressed nicely and had his hair gelled when you’d answered his video chat request earlier. 

He’s clearly thrilled by your surprise over his presence. “Hello, darling. Happy Birthday!”


	39. Chapter 39

“Tom!” You squeak out his name as his hands wrap further around your waist to pull you close for a kiss in greeting. Even standing there wrapped up in his arms, smelling the hint of suntan lotion through his cologne, it is hard to believe Tom is there with you.  You can’t suppress the giddy smile now plastered on your face, not that you’re the slightest bit interested in trying. “But – you’re _here_. We didn’t even talk about…”

He nods, knowing full well what you’re trying to say, “Of course I’m here.” His hand drifts down your back, following your spine. He briefly presses his lips to yours again before moving to your side to mutter into your ear, “You really do look amazing, darling.”

Matt’s laugh makes you blink out of your daze of disbelief. You look over to find Matt smirking gleefully, not the least bit surprised by Tom’s sudden appearance, meaning only one thing…  No wonder Matt wouldn’t take no for an answer when you’d tried to go straight home.

Tom is quick to explain when he notices your expression. “I only just told him this morning that I would be flying in to surprise you. Now, ah ah ah!” You turn to punch Matt in the shoulder again but Tom snags your hand to half-steer, half-pull you out of arm’s reach of Matt. “– let all these fantastic people wish you a happy birthday.”

Richard drops you and Tom off at your place and excuses himself, reminding you of your commitments the next day. Tom has his flight out anyway, there’s no point to try to delay anything. Since Tom had last seen your place you’ve purchased a sofa to match the loveseat he’d given you. Tom beelines for the sofa and sits momentarily before stretching out fully, letting one leg dangle partially off the side so that one foot is still one the floor.

You giggle at him, “Does it feel good to stretch out after traveling?” You have a sneaking suspicion he traveled first class so leg room wasn’t a problem but you tease him regardless. He looks so comfortable sprawled out on the sofa. You take off your shoes and step up onto the sofa to join him. It takes a bit of careful maneuvering, but you are able to step over his legs and seat yourself at the far end of the sofa.

At this angle he has to look down his entire body to smile at you, or rather, you have to look up his entire form to see his contented expression.  “Yes and no, but it’s an easy fix.” He holds his left arm out towards you, beckoning you closer.

After you stretch out in the bit of space between Tom and the back of the sofa you rest your chin on his chest to talk to him. He’d travelled all this way to watch you mingle with your cast mates all night and then relax with you on the sofa. He should be on a beach somewhere rather than causing himself additional stress by traveling to see you. It is only the result of the silence of your place that you realize Tom had shown up at the bar by himself. “Wait - where are the guys? Did you get them a place to stay the night?”

“They’re not here.” He shrugs in reply, “It was just a quick trip. John had to head back to London and I told Bruce to enjoy a day off. Relax in the sun.”

You shift, further wedging yourself between Tom and the back of the sofa, and prod him in the chest, “Even just a quick trip, is it really the best idea to travel alone?”

“So that I can be here on your birthday? Yes.”

“Hmm I seem to remember someone being chased the last time he traveled unescorted.”

Tom chuckles while trailing his fingers over your shoulder, “Fluke. Hasn’t happened since.”  

“Oh!” You sit up quickly, “Since you’re here, I have something for you!” 

After returning from your weekend spent with him in Hawaii you’d had another key to your place cut. You had planned on giving it to him when you went to London to meet his family, but since he’s here now… You’d chosen a bronze metal so that it would stand out against the silver keys he had on his key ring already.

He helps you to climb over him but doesn’t immediately release his hold on you to allow you to fully stand. “What do you mean you have something for me? It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to be giving _you_ something.”

Finally squirming your way free you nod back at him as you walk towards your bedroom to retrieve the key. “You gave me a great present. You’re here. Just – wait there, I’ll be right back.”

You can’t wait to see his face when you hand him the key. Oh – but should you wrap it up or put it in a box or something? No, he had merely handed the key to his place to you when you had visited him in London. You’re suddenly nervous. Why? The man had gone to such lengths to surprise you today and you’re worried about what – that he might decline the proffered key?

You flip the key over in your fingers, “You’re being an idiot, ______. He’s going to love it.”

“Love what, darling?” He followed you. Of course he had followed you. You spin around, closing your fingers around the key to hide it from view.  When you raise your eyebrows at him he waves his hand and chuckles, “Yes, yes – Curiosity. Cat. Etc. Etc. Love what?”

He tilts his head to the side when you hold out your closed fist towards him and slowly unfurl your fingers. You watch one eyebrow twitch up, then the other – the corners of his eyes crinkle with the force of the smile now etched into his face. He reaches out and cups his left hand under yours, touching the key in your palm with the tips of his fingers of his right. He plucks the bronze key carefully from your palm before stepping to you and wrapping you up in his arms.

“I do love it. Just as I love you, ______.” His lips leave you floating, glad to be anchored in his arms – and doubly glad that you hadn’t waited to give him the key in front of his family in London. 


	40. Chapter 40

Tom’s flight back to Hawaii is scheduled to depart all too early the next morning. He pauses after reaching over you to silence the alarm on his phone, giving you a light kiss on your temple. “Good morning gorgeous. How does it feel to be another year older?”

You stretch, letting the words escape in a prolonged release of breath, “Exhausting…”

He settles onto his side, delaying leaving you and the comfort of the bed a few moments. “I’d tell you to go back to sleep but I know you’re going to ignore me if I do.”

“Yep.” You smirk sideways at him, delighting as he leans to peck your lips with his. This calls to mind the mornings during your visit to London so many months ago. This go-round you’re not battling back nerves that resulted from the fledgling relationship.

When Tom slips from the bed to retrieve his bag you spend a second sending Richard a text before you get up and head into the bathroom. Just before you turn the water on for the shower you hear him call out to you, “_______? Where did you go?”

“What’s that?” Your reply echoes around the room along with the sound of running water.

He tries again. “What are you doing?”

You bite your lip to hold back your laugh and then call back. “Sorry! Can’t hear you over the running water.” You start to undress – he’ll get the idea when he stops puttering around with his bag and joins you in the bathroom.

You turn to watch his expression as he walks into the bathroom. His sentence trails off the moment he walks into the room. “Sweetheart? I might need to take the first shower. My flight is in…” His eyes stall on your pyjama pants that are in a heap on the floor and then drift quickly up to your face.

“I was thinking about getting Richard to drive us, if you don’t mind my tagging along.” You reach over to test the temperature of the water and find it still a little cold.

Tom drops his bag onto the counter. He smirks at you, “I was thinking I’d take a page out of your playbook and call a taxi. Wouldn’t mind company in the shower though.”

You have your shirt lifted halfway up your ribcage and pause, “Well I don’t know – if I’m not going with you there’s no need to shower.”

His eyebrows raise and he takes the few steps to close the distance between the pair of you. “Your logic is flawed, darling.” He slips one hand under your shirt and up along your spine while stretching out the other to test the water temperature. “You still have to go in to work today. Might as well get ready now.”  

“Hmm,” you hook your finger in the collar of his shirt and tug him closer to you. “Glad you see it my way. I already sent Richard a text to let him know.”

Tom laughs and shakes his head. “Of course you did.” Satisfied that the water is at a decent temperature he wipes his hand on his shirt before reaching back and pulling it over his head. “Better get started then…”

Tom’s clothes end up getting wet where they’d been cast aside next to the shower. If he took them with him everything in his bag would mildew during the flight and it would potentially ruin the small leather suitcase.

You hold up your hand to stop him from shoving the damp shirt and boxers into inside his bag. “Unless you absolutely need those few pieces of clothing, just leave them here.” He looks momentarily uncertain prompting you to add, “I’ll bring them with me when I visit you in London.”

He grins as he drops the clothes into the nearby laundry bin. “You just want one of my shirts to wear around the house, don’t you?”

You put your hand over your heart, holding the towel in place while you mock an innocent expression, “The thought hadn’t occurred to me until you said it.”

The conversation continues while the pair of you are getting dressed. “It won’t smell like me once you’ve washed it though.”

“Right now  _you_  smell like  _me._  Sorry about the lilac scented shampoo…”

He chuffs out a laugh, “A price I’m willing to pay.”

You don’t bother with makeup or really worrying about your hair. Tom had been correct before, you do have to go in to work today and there’s no reason to add additional time to the makeup chair. “The bed will still smell like you.”

“Until you wash that as well.”

You’ve fallen into the habit of washing your bed linens once a week. You still had a few days left. “Then you’ll just have to be sure to come back soon – or tell me how to bottle a bit of that masculinity.”

He’s half dressed, his shirt undone and hair still mussed from drying off with his towel. He pauses to eye you, “I hope you’re talking about my cologne. Eau de Hiddleston isn’t something that can be bottled.”

“That… makes it sound thoroughly creepy. It’s not how it came across in my head.” You scrunch up your nose. The best part about having short hair was that you didn’t have to worry so much about drying time. Just like Tom, you’re nearly ready to go when Richard knocks on the door.

You accept Richard’s offering of coffee once the three of you are settled into the car. Tom is on his phone, smiling at the screen – probably checking in on his flight and making sure Bruce will be at the airport in Hawaii. You can’t help but smile also. Tom’s outpouring of joy is simply contagious.

He glances up to find you watching him and quickly pockets the phone again. He snags the cup of coffee from your hands to steal a sip, after swallowing he raises his eyebrows at you. “Interesting flavor combination.”

“Flavored coffee with a different flavored creamer.” Richard explains over his shoulder. “I’d give you more details than that on the combination but she’s got something worked out with the barista that just hurts my head when I try to understand the reasoning behind it. Oh – plus a double shot of caffeine.”

You shrug at Tom’s expression. “A deal to try all the possible flavor combinations.”

He laughs. “Oh darling, that was easy to guess. That look was for the double shot.” 


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You and Tom have finally worked yourselves back to a comfortable place in your relationship. You visit each other, when possible, but otherwise manage contact through frequent phone calls. He surprises you by showing up on your birthday, something you hadn't considered a possibility. The next time you're able to see each other is after he's done with his project - and during that brief downtime he's invited you to London to meet his family._

This time arriving in London you are received by Tom and Bruce, with John waiting for the three of you out in the car. The subject of whether or not Richard would escort you on the flight was the subject of much discussion. You’d won that battle, but only just – so you’d been saved from listening to Richard’s soft snoring on the red-eye flight over. John and Bruce would take you back to the airport once the three days you’d wrangled off from work were up, otherwise this trip would consist of Tom, Tom’s family, and you.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. Tomorrow it would just be Tom, his family, and you – today there was a larger get together and there would be quite a few more people descending upon his mother’s house than originally planned. That announcement on the ride from the airport was a bit of a surprise – was this a reunion you were crashing? You had only mentally prepared for a small family meal.

Though taking a shower and changing into a new pair of clothes helped you are still feeling butterflies. Tom is standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching you reapply your meager application of makeup. Noting his slacks and just-this-side-of-casual dress shirt you’d selected a sundress from your luggage to wear for the visit. The pair of you will be commuting back and forth each day so the beds can be saved for those traveling further for the gathering.

You feel like you’re going in for an audition for a part that comes around once in a lifetime and relay that feeling to Tom. “I know they’re wonderful people and I can’t wait to meet them, but right now I’m a nervous wreck.”

“I like it when you’re nervous. You’re quicker to blush.”

His flirtatious tone makes you pause what you’re doing to eye him, “Oh God Tom – none of that. I need to focus on not embarrassing myself or you in front of your _entire_ family.”

He laughs. “It’s not the entire family, but we can drive out to visit more relatives if you’re determined to meet them all?” You pick up your damp towel from where you’d dropped it on the countertop and fling it at him. He catches the towel with ease. “Alright, we’ll save that for another time then.”

He has disappeared, probably to deposit the towel in the wash. “Tom, I only brought a hostess gift for your mother. Will we have time to stop somewhere on the way and – ah!” You jump when he pops back into view, “Shouldn’t we bring something more? Something for the kids?”

“We’re bringing you.” He laughs. “Besides, I thought we decided not to bring gifts?”

Finished in the bathroom, you roll your eyes as you bypass him. The small package that you’d brought with you for his mother just doesn’t seem to be enough now. “Tom. I’m not meeting your mother for the first time empty handed. Besides _my_ mother would flip out if I didn’t bring a hostess gift to a party.”

Tom sidles up beside you and palms the small box from your hands, wrapping your fingers up in his, “You won’t be empty handed, darling.” He squeezes your hands gently, “That’s what I’m here for.”

You sigh, tip toeing up to kiss him briefly. “I love you but, no. We are not bringing _each other_ as gifts for your family.”

Tom’s mother, Diana, greets you warmly when she answers the door. You can already hear the shrieks and fumbling of feet along the floor of children playing inside. It’s already a household you want to see more of. “They’re here!!” You’re pulled into a hug first, only being released once Tom starts to laugh and angles in to give his mother a kiss on the cheek. She accepts the box from you, “Thank you sweetheart, I’ll open it later,” before turning to study Tom’s empty hands and then fixing him to the spot on the doorstop. “But, Tom – where are your bags?”

He looks sheepish, something you delight in. You’ll have to work on perfecting your tone to net the same results. “Ah – I thought it would be best if we drove back tonight. So the rest won’t have to double bunk?”

“Thomas! You’ve brought _______ to meet us, not an easy feat considering the pair of you…” She takes your hand, squeezing it as she leads you inside. Tom follows along behind while she scolds him. “And you’re going to make the poor girl add more of a commute by driving her back and forth each day?”

There are so many faces, so many people that you are introduced to in such rapid-fire sequence you’re a bit overwhelmed. It’s not just his immediate family that you’re meeting today, but extended family and even some friends that have stopped by to interact with the clan while everyone is gathered. Tom had hovered briefly to make sure you were ok but soon was lured away by the children, who want to play tag with him in the yard and knew he wouldn’t deny them.

You’re listening contently to the conversation going on in the kitchen, peering out the window occasionally to smile at Tom loping after the gaggle of kids, when you feel a light tug at the skirt of your dress. One of the little boys – Sarah’s son, you think – is biting his lip and staring up at you. You immediately kneel down to talk to him, “Hi sweetie. Do you need help finding your mum?” You’d seen her walk through the kitchen a few moments before. She might be outside watching over the fray.

He shakes his head and then points down at his untied shoelaces. How old was he now? Tom had told you on the ride over but all the facts are melding together. Young. And absolutely adorable. Perhaps old enough to tie his own shoes but he was being brave and introducing himself to the new stranger in a clever way.

“You’re not letting your Uncle Tom win today, right?” You smile up at him after retying both shoes, making sure the knots are secured. You nod approvingly when he gives you a brilliant grin and shakes his head no. “Good. Otherwise I might have to offer to help and…” You don’t get to finish the offer, he immediately grasps your hand in his and starts to lead you out of the room to join in the fun. Evidently you’ve gained a friend.

Sarah had indeed been standing outside, supervising the excitement on the lawn while her brother focused on keeping himself upright. He has a child hanging on each arm when you are half-lead, half-pulled out into the yard as well. Sarah calls out to her son when she spies what he is doing, “Honey she’s not dressed for –”

You shake your head at her, waving off her concern, “I offered. We’re good. Maybe they’ll go easy on me?”

She’d been a little distant towards you from the moment you walked in the door. Your response catches her a little off guard and she smiles fully, then nodding to her son who had paused in his determined steps to make sure he had gotten his mother’s approval. “Alright then. No hanging on her like you’re doing with your uncle, though!”

When everyone is called inside to eat the children are slightly hesitant until they see that you and Tom are heading in as well. Tom’s little gang of miniature people seem to hang on his every word, and as a result of your time spent with them have transferred some of that devotion to you as well. You bump your hip into his while the pair of you walk towards the house, “Perhaps dressing up for the occasion wasn’t the best plan.” His nice button down is a bit rumpled and completely untucked now. “Not that I’m arguing against the white dress shirt.”

Tom wraps an arm around you and gives you a quick peck on the cheek, “I thought we said no flirting today.” He has to stoop slightly for his lips to make contact with their target because you’d worn flats rather than heels – something you were tremendously thankful for now. Your feet would be killing you if you’d tried to play in the yard with the kids in while wearing heels.

“That was before I saw you out here being attacked by the little ones. You’re going to be a wonderful father, one day.” As soon as the words leave your mouth you feel your face start to get warm.

As the pair of you walk inside and he leans close to speak softly in your ear, “And you, my darling, will make a wonderful mother.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tom is through with his latest project and is taking a bit of time to enjoy being home, in London, with his family. He invites you to visit, and you do - and fall in love with them immediately._

It was a surprise to find out that you’d be meeting more of Tom’s family than just his mother and sisters during your brief trip to London. Meeting so many of the people who helped to shape the man you’d fallen in love with was an absolute blessing. It had been a lovely day filled with laughter, games, and good food. Why had you been so nervous this morning?

The group is starting to disperse now, those that live close by heading back to their respective homes, the few spending the night excusing themselves to tuck the children in. You get up from your spot tucked into the sofa next to Tom to help make sure Diana’s kitchen is clean before the pair of you head home for the night. Emma is standing by the sink holding a towel ready while her mother rinses the last of the dishes.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

They both pause to smile at you and Emma holds out the towel. “If you dry them, I’ll put them away.”

You had interrupted a conversation. It takes a second for Diana to speak. “Tomorrow will be quieter. And don’t listen to Tom again, make him bring a travel bag – there’s plenty of room here for the pair of you to stay the night.”

Emma looks surprised, “You’re not staying the night?”

“You’ll be back in time for breakfast, right? Otherwise I might need to go back up and exchange a promise made.” Sarah had been putting the little ones in bed and overheard the conversation as she came into the kitchen. Your expression must have conveyed surprise. She explains herself, leaning against the countertop next to her mother, “My son has developed a slight attachment."

You smile at her before turning your attention to wiping down the inside of the glass Diana had handed you. “He’s absolutely adorable, Sarah. I’ll make sure we’re back in time for breakfast.”

“It seems there are two men of the household taken with you now, ________. You know…”

She lets the sentence fall off as Tom comes into the room. “Oh? I have competition now?”

You look up to catch the tail end of Emma making a face at her sister. Whatever comment was about to be spoken has been cut off by Tom walking into the room. You grin at him, “Your nephew – and it’s hardly a competition, Tom – he’s winning by a mile. It’s those irresistible dimples. He had me from the first time he smiled.”

Tom fakes a mortal wound, throwing both hands over the center of his chest. “He steals the heart of the woman I love and even steals my moves….” He rights himself and turns about, taking a few steps towards the stairs Sarah had descended.

“Tom?” You’re still giggling over his reaction. “Where are you going?”

He turns back to nod at the room, grinning broadly. “To tell him the importance of the thing he’s claimed. And possibly steal it back from him, if I can.”

You jump to pursue him, grabbing his arm just as he reaches the far end of the kitchen. “You stubborn man, don’t you dare wake your nephew. I was _kidding._ ”

“Even so…” he pauses to scoop you into his arms, “I’ll be excessively romantic while you’re here. Maybe take the scenic route on the way home. Just to be safe.”

Oh hell – you’re blushing again – but you’d been the first to break the ban on flirting today.

Tom’s suggested approach to wooing you makes Diana frown again. “Tom please don’t drive her all over the countryside. I’ll worry enough about the pair of you driving back and forth as it is. Won’t you reconsider staying the night? We’ll find something for the pair of you to sleep in – and clothes for tomorrow. Tom I know you’ve got something suitable stashed around here somewhere. And Emma? Sarah? We can find something for _______, can’t we?”

What had honestly made either of you think that you’d be able to, or want to for that matter, escape back to his place after spending the day with his family? The pair of you give each other nearly the same look – eyebrows raised – and then nod, not wanting to disappoint her. You’ll be staying. That settled and the kitchen clean again, everyone ventures back into the main room to extend the festivities of the night.

It isn’t until later, when people have either headed to bed or to gone search out pillows and bedclothes that you are left in the room with Sarah. The pair of you are moving furniture to the outside of the room to make sure no one rams their toes into stray tables or chairs during the night. You can hear Tom talking to Diana upstairs.

Though she has warmed to you considerably during the day, neither of you are forcing a conversation at the moment. She appears to be thinking, and you’re enjoying the sounds of the household winding down. Diana starts to laugh, the joyful noise echoing down the stairs. A small smile crosses Sarah’s face and then quietly, she speaks. “Thank you, for coming to meet us. And staying the night.” She nearly adds another sentence, hesitates, and then says it anyway. “And I owe you an apology.”

“It’s been my pleasure – but – apologize? What for?”

“For my behavior towards you.”

You blink at her. She’d been distant, but you’re also hesitant around strangers. Who were you to judge? “Sarah…”

She shakes her head, “No. It is deserved. I know it’s going to come up so I’ll just admit to it now – when you and Tom split – unlike my mother and sister, I wasn’t very quick to try to talk him out of his anger.”

You’d thought Diana would have been the first person to corner you about this. Maternal instinct and the protection of her son’s heart… Sarah’s caught you off guard so you’re left standing there holding the table you’d been moving slightly askew.

“Tom may have his flaws, but he is not a man to cheat. I couldn’t understand why you didn’t have more faith in him. And I know the circumstances made the situation complicated beyond what I was exposed to – I just saw his reaction to everything… He kept swearing he hadn’t done anything wrong. He was so angry that you didn’t believe him, that you wouldn’t talk to him…” She shrugs. “But seeing you with Tom today – I have this feeling that we might have met you sooner if everything hadn’t gotten so complicated.”

You nod, recovering yourself and setting the table down. It’s easy to see now, that you should have had more faith in Tom. At the time? It was so early in the relationship, you were so uncertain about everything about the life you’d chosen… “We’ve been working hard to prevent miscommunication from being a problem again.”

She smiles at you with encouragement. “It shows.” 

Tom descending the stairs cuts short any further conversation. Sarah excuses herself allowing the pair of you some privacy. You accept the sleep clothes from his so he can adjust the bed linens in his arms. “Sarah told me something interesting…”

The sofa that was made available may be spacious but sleeping on it together may prove difficult with Tom’s lanky form. He is in the process of unfurling the fitted bed sheet when he replies. “Oh?”

“Her words: you were livid that I didn’t believe you weren’t dating your ex.” You make a show of examining the striped cotton sleep pants and white shirt you’d been handed while watching his reaction out of the corner of your eye.

He’s stopped to smile at you. You’re not fooling him by acting disinterested. “And you’re worried that you’re not through earning my forgiveness? We’ve talked about this, sweetheart.”

“You never used the word _livid_ before… that has a little more force behind it. You’ve only ever admitted to frustration, maybe _anger…_ ” You toss the sleep clothes aside to free up your hands when Tom moves to wrap you in his arms.

“All of which perfectly describe the emotions that were in play. Now,” he pulls you tight against him, “worry less about the past, and more about our present.” He tilts his head towards the sofa, “For instance, who will sleep on the inside?”

After changing, the pair of you stand there considering the space provided dubiously. You mumble while trying to suppress a giggle, “Oh, this is going to be interesting.” You prod Tom in the side, “Maybe you should get comfortable first, and we’ll see if there’s even any room left for me.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor, that’s not a problem.”

When you fix him with a look he barks out a laugh before splaying out on the couch, purposefully taking up as much space as he possibly can. You put your hands on your hips, “And just where am I supposed to fit?”

He cocks an eyebrow at you, “Excluding bony protrusions, I promise I’m a comfortable…”

Emma’s laugh stops his sentence short. She had come downstairs with an empty glass. “I think _someone_ needs reminding – this is a kid friendly house right now!” 


	43. Chapter 43

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your relationship with Tom is back on solid ground and you’re determined to keep it there. After he finishes with the project that caused all the conflict he takes a brief break to return to London and spend time with his family. You manage to find a few days to escape from your own work obligations to meet them._

You’ve been laying with your back loosely pressed to Tom’s front, drifting in and out of sleep. You both woke before the sun even rose and have spent the early morning murmuring a soft, fragmented conversation.

As the suns starts to rise you can hear movement in the household. Careful, quiet steps across the second story translate to shifting floorboards above your head. You can make out a muffled discussion. Then there is a thud and the quick pattering of feet. Over that noise you hear Sarah shout down the stairs a warning: “Incoming!”

You have time to turn slightly in Tom’s arms and voice your question, “What?”

The explanation – Tom’s nephew – lands atop you, knocking the air from your stomach. “It’s morning time!”

You had caught most of the flailing limbs from the sneak attack, but judging from Tom’s grunt and sudden shift of his arms you suspect he might have just gotten a jolt to the groin. You shift your body gently to try to shield him from any further harm while maneuvering his nephew in the opposite direction. “Yes, it is. Good morning!”

He reaches over you to pat Tom on the face a few times, clearly not satisfied that Tom hasn’t acknowledged him yet. “Good morning. Good morning!”

You’re trying not to move too much and cause Tom more discomfort but you can’t help but silently giggle at this adorable child. Tom isn’t quite as amused at the moment, still holding himself a little rigidly. He at least manages out a returned greeting. Satisfied that the both of you are awake, Tom’s nephew wiggles from your grasp and launches himself from the sofa, running back up the stairs at full force.

Tom buries his face in your shoulder, breathing slowly. “Darling I can feel you laughing.”

“I’m sorry, Tom. I know that isn’t helping. Are you alright?” With the danger gone from the room, you shift away from him to allow him some breathing room and time to readjust.

“I’m fine. I will be fine. Just give me a minute.” He breathes steadily before grumbling, “See – now if we’d been in a bedroom – with a door. That locks.”

He pauses his muttering when you lean over to kiss him, “Just imagine what that would have felt like had I not been there to block most of the blow?”

He nods. “I am temporarily indebted to my human shield.” He lifts one hand to run it up one of your legs, hooking his arm over your lap to prevent you from getting up.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, “Temporarily?”

Tom shifts to sit up now, though performing the motion gingerly. His reply is accompanied by a mischievous grin. “Yes. Which is why I require a door. With locks.”

Well there’s something to distract you for the remainder of the day. You release a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh, a moan, and a groan.

With the rest of the household now awake Emma calls down the stairs to you, “______? Tom? The shower is free if one of you wants to dash in. ______, I left clothes out on the counter that should fit.”

You descend the stairs again to find Tom sitting at the kitchen table with Emma and Diana. He jumps up to trade you places and get ready for the day. The scent of breakfast getting started fills the room. No wonder he’s rushing, it smells delicious. “Thank you for lending me clothes for today Emma. I’ll um – I’ll get them washed as soon as we get back tonight.”

Diana’s smile falls slightly, “Oh but are you sure you have to go? You’ve already stayed one night and there’s plenty of –“

Tom has already made it out of the kitchen, but has clearly been listening. He calls back down the stairs. “Plenty of room? Mum, I love you but we’re not staying a second night. I don’t think either of us could manage another night squeezed onto the sofa.”

She looks at you, then to the living room and the sofa where the neat stack sheets that had been used are resting atop one of the cushions. “But – he didn’t fold it out?”

The sound of running water starts overhead, signaling Tom’s presence in the bathroom to take his shower. You huff out a laugh and shake your head. “No. No he did not.” Thinking about his tone you add, “… and I think he’s still fighting off a bit of grumpiness over his morning wake up call.” The smell of the food is making your stomach grumble. If it’s ready before everyone is downstairs you might have to snag a piece of bacon, purely for taste testing purposes. You nod towards the stove, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Emma releases a laugh while Diana shakes her head, “Stop trying to get her to put you to work, _______. Enjoy being a guest while you still can!”

The phrase makes you blush and your heart rate go up a notch. _Enjoy being a guest while you still can._ Sarah may have her reservations regarding you, but Emma has evidently already accepted you as an inevitable part of the family.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart. Will we be seeing you this Christmas? Or maybe New Years? Oh but we have you here, now. That’s what counts.” Diana squeezes your forearm.

Emma joins in, “Next time something happens, if there is a next time – come here and we’ll all join in to make him see reason.”

You give your head a gentle shake and knit your fingers together, “I was the one that needed to be persuaded to see reason, but I’ll keep the offer in mind all the same. Sarah um,” you’re choosing your words carefully, “…mentioned how angry he was that I thought he had cheated.” You cast a guilty look at Diana, “I’m sorry I doubted him. Healthy relationships aren’t something I’ve excelled in, in the past, and the media…” You stop yourself. You’re making excuses. “Never mind that. But I promise, we are doing better – I’m doing better.”

She has both her hands clasped around yours now in an effort to comfort, “I can see that.” She pats your hands as she holds them within her own, “Call it mother’s instinct, but I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.”

Or turning a blind eye. You’d been convinced that it was over – too angry with him, then convinced he was better off removed from your sphere of chaos and unwilling to budge on the issue. At least someone had held onto their faith that your relationship with Tom hadn’t been destroyed by your stubbornness.

No, you chide yourself. That wasn’t entirely true – Benedict had maintained throughout the few month period of resolute silence that the relationship could and would be mended.

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you, for starters.” Emma amends her statement nearly in the same breath, “Well – ranting to begin with. But we got him to see it from your view. Eventually.”

Somehow these wonderful people had been able to look beyond the fact that you’d hurt Tom, betrayed his trust,  _and argued on your behalf_  to get him to let go of his frustration long enough to see your side of the events.

Their actions had mostly been motivated by wanting Tom to be happy – or perhaps just wanting him to quit harping on the issue – but in the end they’d also contributed to your own happiness.

It seems more people had a hand in reuniting you with Tom than either of you were probably fully aware. 

You aren't permitted to dwell too long on your thoughts, once again the thunderous patter of quickly inbound feet alert you to a surprise attack. Tom's nephew hurtles through the kitchen, bypassing all others to halt by your side. He gives you a once over, "Those are Aunt Emma's." 

Emma grins, “Well spotted. ______’s dress wouldn’t do for adventures today so she is borrowing some clothes.”

He immediately brightens at the word _adventures_. Oh dear. What are you in for today? 


	44. Chapter 44

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tom is taking some time between projects to enjoy being around family. You’d be crazy to say no when he invites you to meet everyone. For two days you enjoy immersing yourself in his family dynamic - and then the pair of you head back to his place in London for your final night before flying back to your job in L.A._

The conversation during the car ride back into the city went well – skipping from jokes to random observations to playful teasing – right up until hitting traffic a few blocks out from your destination. “I particularly enjoyed the stories shared over dinner.” As was sibling duty, Tom’s sisters had tried all day to embarrass him with memories from when they were younger. Some stories you’d already heard or read about, some were entirely new.

Tom takes advantage of the stalled evening traffic to reach over and squeeze your knee, “I took it as my solemn duty to be every bit the brother they deserved. Though I would have preferred the bathtub incident remain untold…”

Emma had assured you there were pictures to back up the story but Tom had redirected the conversation to other memories. Maybe you’d see the photographic evidence next time.

His mother had tried again to get the pair of you to stay another night, logic being that until you got in the car and left her cause couldn’t be abandoned. If she had enlisted the help of her grandson you and Tom might have stayed – after nearly two full days of exposure you have no idea how anyone ever said no to that adorable face.

You smile at Tom and turn in your seat to face him a little more. “We all have stories from our childhood we wish our family would never tell. But then how would they show how much they love us in front of company if they keep the moments to themselves?”

“Hugs and affection?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Not nearly as entertaining.”

“For you darling, but…”

“Oh you were laughing too.” And he had been. That full bodied, nearly-falling-over laugh that you adore so much. “I’m sure my family will have all too many stories to tell as well – if we can work something out with our schedules. _Not_ a holiday though.” You shake your head emphatically, “We’ll save that level of crazy family behavior for the distant future.”

Tom chuckles and says, “Not too distant I hope. In fact, get them to pick a day and we’ll make it work.”

That throws you a bit. “What? I thought you were staying here for a week or two? And after that – where is your next project slated to film?”

“L.A.”

You purse your lips at him, “Tom. Where is it really?”

“Los Angeles, California. And oh – by coincidence that happens to be where you’ll be.” He lets out a short whistle, “How about that.”

You’re fully turned in your seat so that you’re fully facing him. The pair of you had talked about him visiting you in LA after his short stay in London, but he hadn’t mentioned that he’d picked his next project specifically to be near you. The original plan regarding living locations had been scrapped when he'd signed on to the project he'd just completed. 

On the one hand, you’d get to see more of Tom! On the other? You were potentially hampering his career, and you couldn’t live with yourself if that was the case. He catches the look you’re giving him when he checks to make sure he can make the turn without merging into anyone.

 “Alright, it’s a bit outside LA but it will be close enough to suit.”

“Tom.”

“_______.”

You wave your hand at him, “I’m not complaining –“

He’s concentrating on parking at the moment but you know as soon as he’s done you’ll get a dubious look. He huffs out a laugh. “Are you sure about that, darling?”

“I – don’t be smart with me, Hiddleston.”

Tom puts the car into park and removes the key from the ignition. Finally. Both of you can concentrate on the conversation without distractions. He grins at you, “Addressing me using my surname. You must mean business.”

He’s up and out of the car before you can continue. “Tom…” When you start again he tilts his head towards the sidewalk. You’re back in the city which means the pair of you are undoubtedly being watched.

 You wait until he’s close by your side to continue while the pair of you walk towards the building. “ _If_ your next project really is one that keeps you near me then I’m all for it. I’ll never be against seeing more of you.”

This nets you a mischievous grin and you roll your eyes. _Hold that thought till later, Hiddleston._ “But I don’t want you to choose projects purely based on proximity. Just because a few months ago I was acting like a jealous…” In your pause Tom starts to suggest something and you elbow him to keep him quiet, “No. I don’t think I want to hear any of the colorful adjectives your mind can conjure.”

“Ow…” He chuckles and rubs his hand over his side a moment before holding out his hand for you to take, if you care to. You hesitate a second before entwining your fingers with his. “Tell me, _______. How is my accepting a project in the same state any different than what we’ve been doing lately? For that matter, how is it any different than you rearranging your schedule to visit me – both in the tropics and here?”

“Just scheduling a visit is different than influencing choices regarding your career.”

Both of Tom’s eyebrows raise and he stops walking, pulling you up short in the hallway before his door. He laughs out his response. “ _Just_ scheduling a visit? Your argument is that it’s ok when you do it but not ok for me to do the same.”

You shake your head, “Oh come on Tom – you’re the one with name recognition, the established career. I’m just that Touring Sundays actor that …” The look he’s giving you while digging his keys out of his pocket with his free hand makes you trail the sentence off.

“You’re just the extremely sought after actor that won an award from her portrayal in her first feature and – “ He has freed the keys from his pocket but doesn't move to open the door. Instead he shakes his head and turns around, pulling you back down the hallway.

You trail along behind him. “Um – Tom? Where are we going?”

“Back to the car.”

“Why?”

He laughs and shrugs his shoulders, “I’m taking you back to my mother’s house. We weren’t arguing about something nonsensical there when we were there.”

You dig in your heels after a few additional paces. “The fact that I care about your career isn’t nonsensical.” You protest. “And I’m not trying to tell you not to care about mine - not that this is an argument - but that's not the point..." He still has you hand firmly grasped within his so you give his fingers a squeeze. "I just want to make sure you keep booking jobs based on your desire to work on the project, not based on--"

He finishes your sentence, stepping back to wrap you in his arms, "Proximity to you. Noted. Now can we go inside where I can repay my debt for using you as a human shield against my nephew? Or do I need to call my mother and let her know that we'll be squeezing back onto the sofa for the last night of your trip?" 


	45. Chapter 45

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Through stubborn determination you found a few days off to visit Tom while he was at home in London - he’d asked you to meet his family and there was no way you were going to say no to that. That fun adventure is over now, though, and it is back to work._

The first few days of work after coming back from a vacation are the worst. Heaven help you if you ever take an extended vacation again, you’ll never want to get back into your work routine. Your vacation lament doesn’t survive the week, however, the pace for filming for Touring Sundays 2 doesn’t allow it.

During a lunch break, Andrew is off canoodling with his on-again girlfriend and Matt is hovering nearby while you are talking on the phone with Tom. Try as you might you can’t keep Matt from eating bits of your food while you’re trying to multitask. Fending for your food while talking to Tom on speakerphone is quite a task. It is strange to be able to talk to Tom and know that he’s also experiencing the same time of day. There is no time-zone difference for the first time in what seems like ages.

You’ve given up on scrolling through the pages of the calendar app to stare, frowning at the screen of your phone. Your off days aren’t matching up with Tom’s.

Tom chuckles, “We managed a few days here and there while on different continents. You’d think we’d have an easier time of this while we’re in the same state…”

He’s seemingly entertained. You’re incredibly frustrated.

You sigh out, “And yet…”

“And yet.” He agrees. Ah, there’s the tone that indicates he’s just as frustrated by this as you are.

Matt snags another seasoned fry from your plate and uses it to motion to you, “There’s the 7th.” He leans further towards the phone, “Tom, what about the 7th and 8th?” He pops the fry into his mouth, “______, did I miss you asking him about that?”

You raise an eyebrow at Matt and hold the phone out towards him, “I think the 7th has a photo-shoot that Mark is trying to line but up but… Honestly I don’t even know anymore. Here – maybe if you talk to Tom it’ll prevent you from eating the last of my food. I love you, Tom. Here’s Matt.”

The two day span didn’t work for Tom either. Just like every other day that had been suggested, something stood in the way. Watching Matt’s grin falter as every date he suggests is met by Tom’s chuckled response in the negative is only entertaining for a few minutes. You pick up the stack of production memos and mail to flip through while picking at the rest of your meal.

A series of the pages are from Matt and Andrew. Both of them have been utilizing the memo system as an extended telegram – complete with full stops. Excellent use of their time while a particular scene hadn’t called for their participation. Monumental waste of paper but it keeps them busy and prevents your phone from being overwhelmed with messages from the pair of them.

Production notice – [ _costume related_ ].

Production notice – [ _new schedule for next week_ ].

Part of the telegram-message from Matt and Andrew. Evidently they were composing their own suspense story during their down time – _[We’ve hidden it {STOP} Oh dear, darling Sunday {STOP} And refuse to give hints {STOP} Can’t wait for you to read this {STOP} Or discover it missing {STOP}]._ You’re waiting until one or both of them cave to tell you what, exactly, is missing from your dressing room.

Production notice – wait that is a duplicate of the first.

Note from Mark. Note from Richard. Both of them could have left you messages on your phone but – well maybe they had – maybe they were just being thorough. You feel a flash of guilt. Instead of checking anything on your phone during your break you’d taken the opportunity to call Tom. You shake the guilt aside and concentrate on the papers in your hands.

Fan-mail. _[Dear _____, I finally was fortunate enough to see the new hairstyle. Not saying that the red wasn’t stunning but glad to see the real you once again. Yours, -MC.]_ You lift your hand to your hair. You’d grown used to your shorn locks faster than you imagined you would.

“This is ridiculous. Wait, Tom where exactly are you filming?” Matt has gotten frustrated as well. Ha. Join the club. “I don’t understand why the pair of you aren’t just staying together at ______’s place.”

You release the stack of papers, letting them fall back onto the table in front of you. Tom isn’t staying with you because… well the both of you had assumed that there would be plenty of time for visits back and forth… and then he’d arrived stateside and it had become a frustrated game of trying to figure out schedules. Wasn’t it too late now to ask Tom if he wanted to stay with you?

Perhaps – if he is willing to endure the drive back and forth… He is staying in a hotel so there won’t be any problems associated with trying to break a lease. Your place is big enough for two. Hadn’t that been the plan before jealousy and stubbornness had derailed everything? The pair of you could actually spend more than a few days together here and there – do normal couple things.

Tom hasn’t spoken yet to reply to Matt’s question.

Oh but if he was close enough for it to be a viable option surely he would have suggested it by now as a solution to the schedule conflict problem. Plus you’d have to settle Bruce somewhere. Tom hadn’t contracted both Bruce and John to guard him while he was in the states. Bruce would handle the first half of the stay, then rotate out and let John take over. Hmm but Richard could guard the pair of you while Tom was staying with you and Bruce could guard Tom when he arrived back on site for filming. Would they agree to having Tom unsupervised for the drive back and forth?

No – despite your desire to see Tom it just doesn’t make sense to have him stay with you.

It’s only been a few seconds and you’ve talked yourself into it and out of it again.

You hop up, crooking your fingers to Matt to indicate you want the phone back. “Okay – you go back to eating my fries.” You fumble with the phone to make the call private again. “Tom? Still there?” Your heart stutters – a combination of the conversation and the thought of hanging up on him – again. If you’ve hung up on him you’ll never hear the end of it.

“Yes, darling,” Oh thank goodness you hadn’t hung up on him, “but…”

You breathe out a sigh. His tone tells you his answer. No. He won’t be moving in. “I understand. That’s ah – why I haven’t asked?” Oh you’d meant that as a statement, not a question. Now you’re even more flustered, “I mean, I _want_ you to come stay with me but long hours on top of drive time… I get it.”

Tom chuckles. “What I wouldn’t give to see you pacing about while you’re rambling, darling.” He pauses, “Maybe leading into our respective off days we can drive one way or the other. Not the sightseeing we’ve been trying to plan, but at least enjoy each other’s company. Have dinner, if it’s early enough.”

Or other things, if it’s not. Now you just have to actually have an off day that doesn’t immediately get filled by another project. Matt is happily munching away at your food, none the wiser that his muttered suggestion is giving you heart palpitations. You bite back a smile, “Hmm, I’d like that.”  

“Did Ben talk to you regarding his premiere?”

That perks you up a little bit. You’d forgotten to ask regarding the premiere for the film Benedict had been working on before filming _Jack & Emily_ with you. You had been struck by tunnel vision - trying to find a break from your filming schedule that coincided with Tom’s. “You think you’ll be able to go?”

“Determined not to miss it, particularly if you’ll be there.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m going.”

Tom chuckles. “Good. Then we’ll _finally_ be attending something together.” 

You put Tom back on speakerphone to flip back to the calendar. “Do you want to call and let him know we’ll be there or do you want me to?”

“I’ll tell him. And judging from the echo I’m back on speaker. You sound like you’re smiling – Matt, is she smiling?”

Matt stops chewing, swallows, and grins. “Yes. Well done, mate. I thought this phone call was doomed to be filed under scheduling mess.”

You ignore the pair of them. “I’ll let Richard know – do you think we’ll need both Richard and Bruce or should we let them battle it out, decide who gets to wear a tux and chaperone that evening?”

“I do like the idea of them battling it out – darling, can we iron out the details later? They’re calling for me.”

Matt replies over your affirmative response. “Yes, darling. Of course.”

Richard nods knowingly as he walks you from the building to his waiting car. He’s already heard from Bruce and the pair of them are working out details for the night. “We’re both going to attend. The pair of you are too unpredictable to handle alone.” When you roll your eyes at him he adds, “We discussed calling in John, too.”

You wait until he’s seated beside you to continue the conversation. “Oh please, we’re adults, not children.”

He nods while putting the car into gear. “Yes. Adults that each feed off the energy provided by the other and their surrounding environment.”

Mark had sent Richard with a stack of fan-mail from his office. You add the papers to the stack that has accumulated in your dressing room during the week. You’ll be up for a while tonight responding to messages and searching online for something to wear to the premiere. Richard looks at the pages that you’ve added to the top of those he’d handed you, noticing the notes from Andrew and Matt. His expression changes from jovial to concern in a blink. “Something in all caps? What –“

“It’s just one of the goofy notes Matt and Andrew keep sending me.” You smirk and shake your head. “They’ve created this mini mystery game during their downtime. Wait, I thought you screened everything that came to my dressing room just like Mark screens everything that goes to the official fan-mail box in his office building?”

Richard nods. “That’s why I was concerned. I didn’t remember seeing that note.”

You smile at him, placing your hand over the stack of pages in your lap. “Calm yourself, Rambo. It’s just a goofy note from the boys.”

His concern dips into a deep scowl. “It’s not a joking matter, ______. You do remember _why_ I’m around, don’t you?”

You can’t forget even though you’ve tried everything to leave that memory firmly in the past. You reply with a sullen, “Yes.”

“Okay…” he nods while keeping his eyes on the road. The car is silent for a few stop lights and then he huffs out a laugh, “Have you even seen Rambo?” 


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dealing with the complicated task of sorting out your schedules so you can see each other is going to get old, fast. Even in the same timezone, same state, you’re still battling to be able to see the man you love._

You flick the petal of one of the white tulips that are starting to fill the makeshift vase on your dressing room table. Tom had sent long stemmed white roses to your place the day after arriving in California. The bouquet that he had sent you had dwindled down to a single stem as the petals had slowly wilted. And then white tulips had started appearing in your dressing room. You haven’t asked him why the change in flower was necessary, or change in location of delivery – perhaps he realized that sending flowers to your place when you wouldn’t be there to receive them didn’t make sense?

You’ve yet to be around when the next white tulip appears. Each morning there is another. Whomever Tom had hired to deliver the flowers was devoted to the task, that’s for sure.

The plan to drive to visit Tom, or to have him visit you, had been appealing enough but the implementation of said plan is proving problematic. No, neither Bruce nor Richard will allow either you or Tom to drive one way or the other unsupervised. They are contracted to guard each of you, respectively, and cannot be dissuaded.

You’ve protested – Richard, via Mark’s approval, had allowed you to fly to London without needing to be there to hold your hand the entire way. Tired of arguing your case with Richard, you’ve gotten Mark on speakerphone in the hopes that you can convince him to let you make the trip alone.

Mark’s not on your side this time. “Airports have security and airplanes don’t make pit stops along the route.”

“When it’s not a non-stop flight they do…” You mutter.

You’ve started to pace around your dressing room. Richard dropped out of the argument after you picked up the phone to call Mark. He’s now got a smug grin that he’s trying to hide by keeping his head down while flipping through the stack of papers that have once again accumulated in your dressing room. You really should suggest to Matt and Andrew that they move their little telegraph-spy-game to the digital form to save on memos. They’ve been running the poor crewmembers ragged sending you notes.

“If you’re driving up there tomorrow night you _are_ taking Richard with you, _______. Hell, let him drive and rest along the way. That’s what days off are supposed to be, you know. Rest.” You can hear the clack of the keyboard. Mark is back to answering emails and the like. Clearly he thinks the debate is over.

What can either of them do, really, if you just leave straight from work? Rent a car and leave right after you’re done for the day? You’ll have to figure out a way to get your bag past Richard in the morning – or just stop to buy supplies along the way. Of course that would delay your arrival and…

You risk a glance at Richard and find him watching you. “Stop plotting. We argue against your independent streak because we care.”

You’re only just able to keep yourself from muttering out the thought that pops into your head: _Paid to care._ No need for hurling such barbs. They’re doing their jobs. You take a deep breath and nod. “Alright. Fine.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow as soon as you’re able and then drive back the following day after Tom leaves for work.” He holds up his empty hand, he’s still holding the paperwork he’s been looking through in his right hand. “I know you want to stay more than one night but if we do it’ll mean that we’ll have to rush the following morning. I’d rather not fight traffic on the way back down in the hopes that we can get you on set in time.” Richard waits for you to nod before standing. “That’s settled then. I’ll call the hotel and book a room for myself.”

Mark has resumed tapping on his keyboard. “No need. I’ve taken care of it. Now if that’s all…”

“_______?” Someone is knocking lightly on the door.

You release a small sigh. Even if you weren’t being summoned there really isn’t much more to say regarding your day off. Mark and Richard have gotten their way. You’re about to say goodbye to Mark when Richard motions for you to hand over your phone, “Actually, wait… I need to speak with Mark a moment. Mark, if you have the time?”

As you leave your dressing room to trail along in the direction you’re being led you hear Richard comment. “Mark – that series of notes we were talking about last week. She’s gotten another one.”

What notes had they been discussing? Another one? You’ve been through that pile of messages that Richard had been skimming through during the call. What was he highlighting to Mark? Everything that you can immediately call to mind seemed playful and harmless upon first read. A few request for signed photos, a cute note here, and a smitten fan there. Anything in that stack would have gone through the building’s security team – sure it wasn’t Mark and Richard’s hyper-vigilant sieve-of-concern but the security team did a good job at screening out the strange.

What notes? What notes? The question scratches in the back of your mind throughout the rest of the day. Matt and Andrew try to engage you with their usual antics but you beg off after the day is through and hurry back to look through the stack of pages on your dressing room table. There’s nothing that seems odd to you – a few requests for autographs, more production memos, and more notes from Matt and Andrew. When did they even find time to send you those? You laugh softly. No wonder they looked so petulant when you ignored their requests a few minutes ago.

Your phone is sitting on the dressing table next to the vase of tulips. You’ll pester Richard over the worrisome notes on the drive home – or perhaps you should save that for tomorrow’s drive when he won’t be able to escape you for a few hours.

Despite your plan to grill him during the drive northward, you do no such thing. Richard keeps the conversation light, keeps you distracted with thoughts regarding Benedict’s upcoming premiere and what, exactly, is wrong with your dear costars Matt and Andrew.

You don’t even remember to mention the tulips to Tom until the wait staff is bringing out dessert. It’s the swirl of whipped cream that sits atop the chocolate mountain that they call a piece of cake that reminds you of the mass of white tulips that are sitting in your dressing room.

“Thank you again for the flowers, Tom.” You swipe some of the cream from the top of the cake with your fork.

He arches an eyebrow at you, “I thought they would have wilted by now.”

You shake your head at him as he brings a hunk of the chocolate cake to his mouth and chews. “Well I’ve put them in water. I mean, I didn’t with the first stem because I didn’t have a vase in the dressing room and it wilted during the day… but I found something that would work – and water them with my water bottle when I remember… The vase is nearly full now.” You cut away a forkful of the cake for yourself. Oh it was an excellent choice – though perhaps a little overly rich. You wash down the bite with a swig of water.

Tom has stopped eating to laugh. “You took the roses to your dressing room and didn’t bring the vase too?”

“No… tulips. White tulips. You haven’t been sending them to me? I thought it was a way to keep you on my mind so I’d eventually find a way to come see you?” You’ve put down your eating utensils now and have your hands resting on the table. Richard and Bruce wandered away earlier to let the pair of you enjoy a quiet dinner unsupervised. You glance over to spot them at the bar enjoying their drinks. Suddenly you wish they were sitting a bit closer.

“Would that have worked?”

You wave your hand to indicate your current surroundings, “Clearly…”

He reaches over the table to snag your hand in his when you rest it once more on the table. The wrinkles on his forehead convey his worry, but he seems determined to keep the conversation light. It doesn’t distract you from the knot forming in your stomach but it helps. “Then I should thank the person who has been sending them. Have you encountered the delivery service? Maybe they can tell you who sent them.”

You trace the lines in the palm of his hand with your fingertips. “I haven’t seen anybody delivering them yet. The next stem is always in place before I get there in the morning.”

Tom shifts his hands to lightly grasp your wrist. The cake now sits, forgotten, between the pair of you. “Have you mentioned it to Richard?”

“No – I thought they were from you.” You wince and try to pull your hand from his grasp but end up using the other hand to pinch the bridge of your nose. This is not the way you wanted to spend your time with Tom. And then the notes pop into your head. “Richard, and Mark, are already concerned over some fan-mail I’ve been getting to my dressing room. Mentioning the tulips…”

“Is the right thing to do... They can’t protect you if they don’t know about something that worries you.”

Tom has already paid the bill and you’re no longer hungry so there’s no need to sit there any longer. Tom releases your arm once you start to get up from your chair to allow you to fully stand. “I’ll tell Richard on the way back tomorrow.”

_And actually follow through with the promised discussion, unlike today._

“You should tell him tonight.” That no-nonsense tone, coupled with his steady gaze, always sends shivers of delight down your spine.

You wait for Tom to stand and clear the table before responding. You aim for a stern response of your own, hoping it elicits the same result. “I’ll tell him _tomorrow_ , Tom. Right now I just want to enjoy being here.”

You can see him processing everything you’ve discussed over dinner while the pair of you wait for Bruce and Richard to pay the bartender. You arch an eyebrow at him and he finally gives you a half smile while shaking his head, “Stubborn.” 


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _With Tom now filming in California you don’t have to worry about time differences, just finding free moments to drive one way or the other. Of course it is decided that you need a chaperone for the drive up to visit, but you overlook that in favor of focusing on seeing Tom. Then you ask him about the flowers he’s been sending you - one stem, day after day - and he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. Perhaps bringing Richard along wasn’t such a bad idea after all._

You manage to coax Tom back into bed twice before he finally leaves for work. He ends up having to hurry from the room while cupping his hands over his eyes like blinders while you grin wickedly at him. He pops his head back into the room, still with his hand covering his eyes, to leave you with a parting remark. “Don’t forget to talk to Richard today about the tulips. I love you. Call me when you get back, please.” He risks peeking at you between his fingers to see you nod and then he’s gone from the room again.

You take your time packing up your things. Richard is impatient to get breakfast and head back. The second text that comes through makes you laugh. _You’ll have to come down eventually._

_Yes, yes. I’m on my way. There’s time for waffles? Bacon?_

_Unless you take all morning, yes._

You stick out your tongue at his message and throw your bag over your shoulder. You’d briefly considered leaving something of yours in the hotel room for Tom to discover but then couldn’t decide what… Another trip, perhaps. Richard has coffee waiting for you when you finally make it down to the reception area where the hotel has breakfast waiting for their guests. He’s clearly been there awhile, a nearly empty plate sits beside several sections of already refolded newspaper.

He waits for you to take a sip of your coffee before speaking, “Tom and Bruce left at least half an hour ago. They were a little… rushed.”

You smack your lips after swallowing your mouthful of caffeine. “Oh?”

Richard nods sagely. He tilts his head towards the breakfast bar, “Grab your bacon and I’ll tell you who won the bet.”

Bet? You raise your eyebrows at Richard. You return with your plate of food and are judiciously pouring on the syrup but Richard still hasn’t resumed his thought. You have to prompt him to get him to comment further, “Ok… the bet?”

“When Tom didn’t appear on time Bruce and I started to entertain ourselves.” He plucks a piece of bacon off your plate and you rolls your eyes at him. You watch pointedly as he takes a bite and chews. He had breakfast already, why is he stealing your food? “I won – since you’re not asking.”

You use your fork to sever a bite of waffles off from the whole. “I’m trying to decide if I want to ask…”

Richard watches you dip the segment of waffles in the puddle of syrup on your plate before bringing it to your mouth. “Could you have used a little less syrup? We’ll be in a confined space for the next few hours.” He shakes his head.

“The bet?”

“I won because part of the agreement was not to meddle. Otherwise Bruce would have been knocking and announcing the time through the hotel room door. We _thought_ the pair of you were going to be joining us for a run before breakfast. Wasn’t that the plan?”

You smile between bites of food. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were for focusing on other things. “Well, you know Tom and plans…”  

Richard just smiles at you.

Remembering your promise to Tom you wait until you and Richard have some privacy in the car before bringing up the tulips that continuously appear in your dressing room. You can’t quite remember the exact date it started, and you ended up having to throw away one or two because they had started to wilt, but if you count the stems when you get back you’ll have an approximate time to give him…

Now you just have to broach the subject.

“I’m not that hard to look after, am I?”

He gives you a curious look. He’s mostly concentrating on the traffic surrounding the hotel but your segue wasn’t the smoothest. “I’ve had worse jobs. Where’s this -- I was just joking with you this morning, ______.”

“No, yes. I mean, I know that I could do things to make your job easier. But I do try to listen…”  So much for a smooth transition. Could your words be any more elusive right now? You smooth your hands over the tops of your thighs

He’s trying to figure out where you’re trying to go with the conversation. He’s still frowning though his expression is directed at the road rather than at you. “Give yourself some credit. You do listen when it counts. If this is about the skipped run this morning don’t worry about it. Bruce would have retrieved Tom if it looked as though he’d be late and we’re still on the road with plenty of time to spare.”

You wave your hand to acknowledge him. “Yes. Look what I mean is that – when we get back… You were concerned over notes I’ve been getting to my dressing room,” you bow your head sheepishly, “Yes, I overheard your conversation with Mark. If that’s something you’re worried about, then you should look into the tulips I’ve been getting, too.”

It’s a good thing the traffic hasn’t let Richard get up to speed. He applies the brake so suddenly both of you jerk forward a little bit. “What? The ones on your dressing table? What about them?”

“They’re not from Tom, like I thought. I asked him last night and he didn’t know what I was talking about.” You’re watching him carefully. He’s recovered from the sudden application of the brakes and his frown of confusion has morphed into a glare.

Recovered maybe isn’t the proper word. He’s turned now onto the highway and he’s increasing his speed, more than the posted limit. You try not to watch the speedometer. He doesn’t raise his voice, or turn to look at you either. He just keeps scowling at the road. “Why didn’t you mention the tulips to me the day you started getting them?”

Didn’t you start with that? “I thought they were from _Tom._ He’d sent roses to the apartment so I thought… I don’t know, that he’d switched… places and flowers. I don’t know. I mean the building has security so I figured…”

At your tone Richard has at least stopped glowering. His reply is stern, “Anything that arrives that seems questionable should be brought to my attention. What did the note say that made you think it was Tom’s doing?”

You don’t immediately reply. “Er…”

“______, tell me there was a note. I _know_ we’ve talked about you receiving gifts without notes.” He sighs.

It’s your turn to scowl. “Speaking of notes. Want to tell me about the notes that have you and Mark concerned? Yes, I overheard that conversation the other day. Seems like _that_ is something that should be brought to _my_ attention.”

Richard puffs out his cheeks. You’ve turned his words around upon him. You aren’t wrong and he knows it. If they were concerned you needed to be in the loop too. “Mark noticed a few notes that were being sent to you that were – _questionable_.” There’s that word again. “And initialed rather than signed with a full name.”

The letters that you’ve been getting in your stack of mail lately pop into your head. All signed: _-MC_.

He takes your silence for confusion, or a desire for further explanation. He maintains a firm grip on the steering wheel with one hand while using the other to better articulate his point. “Initials suggest intimacy – that you should know who the notes are from without it being expressly spelled out for you.” He checks your expression to find you scowling. “We’ll let the site security team know to screen your mail more closely… And to stop anyone trying to deliver flowers to you. They know better than to deliver things without notes. Are you sure you didn’t just overlook it?” He’s switching from talking to you, to muttering to himself, to talking to you again.

Something slipped past the security team. That’s a bit unsettling.

You bite your lip. Because you’d assumed the flowers were from Tom you never really bothered to look for a note. Or had it been the other way around? In not finding a note you’d just assumed they were from Tom?

Richard presses a sequence on the dashboard to dial Mark. The rest of the ride is devoted to establishing a plan to deal with this newly discovered issue. Security will hold everything until Richard can review it. No exceptions.

Rather than head back to your place, Richard wants to stop by the set to examine the tulips for himself. Maybe you’d increased everyone’s stress levels for no reason. Yes. He would take one look and discover a note tucked down between an overly large leaf and the stem to one of the tulips. Everyone would laugh about the paranoia.

You stop short walking into your dressing room which nearly causes Richard to walk into you. Now there is a red tulip amongst the mass of white flowers. 


	48. Chapter 48

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Both you and Tom are filming in California, in the same state, if not in the same city for the time being. You’ve let your guard down after so long with the reassuring presence of your bodyguard and no troublesome occurrences._

You’ve been here before – though this time it is Richard standing amongst a mass of people talking to them regarding your safety. Admittedly last time Mark had been yelling at the hotel security team. Richard’s method of quiet anger doesn’t make your ears bleed and seems to incite a little more fear in the group listening.

Matt, Andrew, and a few others had popped by to see what the fuss was about and had been quickly escorted away. You’re just about as red at the tulip that still sits nestled into the bouquet of white. At least this time you’re not looking at a completely destroyed room and the loss of nearly all your material possessions.

No, this time there’s still some small inkling of hope that the tulips are just gifts from a misguided fan. You really want to think that. As an option it is far more appealing than the alternative, which Richard has been expressing for the past half hour. To his mind the tulips mean danger - specifically that you're in danger.

Someone has grown a little too attached, again.

You really don’t like his theory.

Once Richard is satisfied that he’s put the fear of God into the production’s security team he’s willing to take you home. In your opinion his insistence that he look through every room of your place before leaving you to try to salvage the rest of your off day is a bit of overkill but it’s the only thing that will appease him in his heightened state of paranoia.

He scowls at you as you follow him room to room, then back out into the main living area. “You should be more concerned about this, _____.”

You are concerned, very much so, but freaking out about it won’t change the fact that it is happening. “You’re doing your job, and you’ve scared the security team into triple checking that they’re doing theirs…”

He grunts in response. He isn’t happy that you’re trying to make light of the situation and you amend your expression accordingly and shake your head.

“Richard, I’m trying really hard not to let fear rule me. If it makes you feel better I’ll have a complete freakout about it once you’re gone.”

He frowns at your words, still taking stock of your apartment. “You should rearrange the furniture in here. The loveseat blocks your pathway to the door from the bedroom.”

Move the loveseat? You fight back the chill of goosebumps trying to erupt over your skin. You’re _not_ going to rearrange your place for optimized fleeing capability. That is _not_ a thing that is going to happen.

With a practiced smile you force a lightness to your voice. “I’d trip over everything if I started moving furniture around.”

He grunts again.

"I'll figure something out." You put your hand on your hip and furrow your eyebrows together in thought.

It wouldn't happen today but at least planning it out might make Richard worry a bit less. It's also something good to distract from the moment.

Once Richard is gone and you down a glass of wine to steady yourself, you call Tom. You start with idle chatter about the drive back and how his day is going before you update him regarding the tulips.

Tom is quiet at the news and you find yourself wishing you’d thought to video chat with him rather than just call him. Then, softly, “I’m coming to stay with you.”

“Oh – no – that’s not why I told you... Tom. We talked about this… With your production schedule it doesn’t…” The stress of the discovery, the conversation, the wine – all combine to send your stomach into flips. You want Tom to come stay with you because he wants to. Because he’s able. Not out of some sense of duty or obligation.

"Stop trying to deprive me of my white knight moment, ______." He’s not going to budge much now that he’s made the decision. “I'll stay there, at least the few days surrounding my off days... And then after Ben’s premiere it should be more manageable to make the drive every day.”

Benedict’s premiere for one of the projects he’d been working on before filming _Jack & Emily_ with you was still a few weeks away. It gave you a timeframe to prepare for living with someone – not just sustain the environment for a short visit but properly live with someone. You hadn’t had a roommate for a few years now – you’ve either been able to afford your own place or had been living out of suitcases in various hotel rooms.

“Say something, darling.”

You smile and emit a light chuckle before speaking. “I love you?”

He laughs. “Thank you for sounding so confident.”

Even with the cheery thoughts Tom is summoning you can’t quite shake off the ill feeling that has surfaced. Still, you're doing your best to try. “Hmm you’re welcome. Maybe once you’re here –“ the thought makes your heart leap a bit – Tom living with you! – “Richard will worry less.”

“It’s his job to worry, ______. Honestly I’m all for him continuing to worry about your safety.”

The rest of the conversation circles around the logistics of Tom traveling back and forth until after the premiere, and talk of the premiere itself. Tom has been talking with Benedict while you've only exchanged texts with him. Details still need to be ironed out - dinner before or after? Arriving together? Not to mention what to wear...

The next day you arrive on set to find that Richard has cleared the vase and tulips from your dressing room. He seems pleased with himself and the heightened state of awareness of the security staff. Admittedly, you are able to concentrate a little more without having that vase of flowers reminding you of events.

And then the next day there is another bouquet of white tulips, this time with two red ones – and a note.

_I noticed someone threw away the previous collection. And now nothing can be delivered without a note? How could you not know they were from **me** , _______? Don’t worry, you are forgiven. And I’ve replaced the flowers. _

_-Devotedly yours, MC_

Richard is livid. He tosses the bouquet again, altering his instructions to the security staff. Nothing to be delivered to your dressing room. Period. No gifts, no notes. Nothing.

The next day you hold your breath as you enter your dressing room, releasing it when you discover the counter space still empty. 

And then the bouquet appears after lunch, with three red tulips enclosed in the numerous white ones. 

You’re pretty sure Richard is going to have a conniption. 


	49. Chapter 49

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _When one thing goes right in your life another thing goes wrong. You and Tom are doing well, filming in the same state helps immensely in that regard - but tulips, and notes, from the mysterious MC keep appearing in your dressing room. Nothing overly menacing, not yet, but it still keeps you on edge. How is MC gaining access? Why can’t your bodyguard or site security seem to halt the deliveries?_

Your nerves are fraying. Richard and the production security team are unable to figure out how the tulips keep appearing in your dressing room. Sometimes there is a day gap, sometimes two – but eventually the bouquet appears again. And there’s always another red tulip in the mix. The thing is half white, half red now. The notes accompanying the bouquets all run along the same vein now: kind words that completely freak you out.

_I know you’re not the one throwing the flowers away. It’s alright, I don’t mind buying you more. – Devotedly yours, MC_

_Where did you go when you went out of town? Home to see the family? I’d love to meet them. – Yours, as always, MC_  
  
This had prompted calls to both households to make sure everyone was looped in on the situation. Your mother wanted you to hire a second bodyguard, your father wanted you to drop out of the Touring Sundays sequel and come home. You said no to both.

You still have no idea what the initials on the notes stand for – who they are meant to indicate. Everyone seems irritated by that fact. They all give you some variation of: Surely you know _someone_ with those initials.

Yes, because it makes complete sense that you’re protecting the identity of the person currently keeping your nerves on edge. You’ve taken to the unknown stranger as _Mister Creepy_. Richard disapproves, but that small bit of humor helps to keep your sanity intact.

Matt and Andrew do their best to keep your mind occupied but you find yourself jumping at every little thing. The daily texts and nightly phone calls from Tom distract you for short periods of time and then you’re back at work staring at another note, back waiting for the something to happen. The nervous energy works for the suspense of the production at the moment but it leaves you absolutely drained by the end of each day.

You’ve stopped running in the mornings upon Richard’s request based on the argument that it was a predictable routine and a weak point during your day in terms of protection. You don’t argue. You’re doing enough stunts again that you’re getting your exercise just memorizing the routines.

Richard is ever present on set, no longer leaving you in the building during the workday to run errands. And you’re spending as little time in your dressing room as you possibly can. Moving spaces would prove pointless since security seems powerless to stop the ‘gifts’ from arriving. The ‘gifts’ would probably just follow you to the new location, anyway.

The thing getting you through the day today is the promise of Tom’s presence for the next day and a half. He arrives late in the evening, well after Richard has knocked off for the day. As soon as you answer the door Tom wraps you up in his arms. You grant Bruce a muffled ‘hello’ before he heads back to the car. Once the pair of you are inside Tom is still reluctant to release you. You tilt your head up to rest your chin on his chest. “And hello to you, too.”

“Hello, ______. Sorry it’s so late. I would’ve been here sooner if I could have made the traffic cooperate.” He still has his bag over his shoulder but doesn’t seem to care or feel the weight of it as he looks down at you. “What time to you have to be up in the morning?”

You half shrug, “Early? Well, a little later than early now that I’m not running in the mornings anymore. Maybe Richard would allow it again with you and Bruce as backup…”

Tom’s smile fades a little bit. “I didn’t mean to bring it up right as soon as I walked in the door. Sorry, darling.” He gives you a squeeze, “I’ll happily be backup to defend you if the need arises, though I hope it won’t come to that. Do you think Richard would like John to fly over and join him until Bruce and I are here?”

You shake your head. “Mom suggested a second bodyguard as well.”

“Smart woman.” Tom says as he finally releases you. He nods in agreement with the sentiment.

Released from his hold you head back towards your recently vacated seat near the coffee table. You’d been going over lines for tomorrow and watching the clock – well, mostly watching the clock – while waiting for his arrival. “I said no.”

“You should listen to your Mum.” He ducks out of sight to deposit his bag in the bedroom before reappearing.

You’ve seated yourself on the floor before the coffee table and put your elbow up to support your chin while you watch him walk. You’re definitely going to enjoy watching that confident swagger parade around your place. “Hmm like you listen to yours? How is she by the way? Have you talked to her lately?”  

Tom chuckles. “Nice avoidance technique. She’s well. And when you visited we did end up staying the night as she wished so technically…” he seats himself at the end of the sofa closest to where you are so he can lean forward to look over the papers that you’ve been studying, “yes, just like I listen to mine.”

You wave him away from the papers. “Tom! Stop or you’ll know every last detail before the movie comes out.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He’ll not give up until he gets his way, fanboy that he is. You sigh and nod towards the papers. “Alright. Fine. Have it your way. Run lines with me until we’re too exhausted to keep our eyes open?”

He grins and holds out his hand, waiting to see which page you pick up and hand to him first. “Work work work.”

You run lines with him well past the original time you’d intended on going to sleep. Just being in his presence helps to unwind so much of the tension that you’ve been carrying around with you. Once you realize the time you straighten up the room again and the pair of you head for bed.

Poor Tom, if he’d had intentions for other activities he is destined for disappointment. All it takes is a few minutes of quiet once you're laying down and you’re asleep. Your dreams are interesting - a mix of scenes from Touring Sundays 2 and flashes of being chased through the studio. Whatever calm had taken over while running lines with Tom doesn't transfer into the dream world, it seems.

In the morning you roll over and into a body and it takes you a second to breathe again.

Tom. It’s Tom. It’s Tom. 

As a result of your sudden jolt, Tom is awake now too. Your tense movements don't go unnoticed, "I'm up. I'm up. Hey, morning... You ok?" 

You force your breathing to return to normal. Inhaling the scent of the bed, and him, further anchors you in reality. This being jumpy thing is getting old. "I'm good. Interesting dreams. But I'm good, now. Morning." 

"Interesting?"

You press your lips to his shoulder before turning and scooting from the bed, "Not that type of interesting. Interesting-tense. Not interesting-fun." All you need to do is shower and you'll be ready to go to work. Richard would arrive soon to pick you up. You glance at Tom lounging in the bed. He's propped himself up on the pillows. "So what are your plans for the day?" 

"Haven't thought that through, yet. Bruce and I could always hang out with Richard. Be additional protection detail." His eyes are following you through the room. 

Stopping just before entering the bathroom you shake your head. So far MC's focus was solely on you. You don't want Tom in MC's cross-hairs as well. "Sit around a studio on your off day? Why don't you go to the beach or sight-see or something? Send me pictures all day and make me jealous." 

Tom calls out as you enter the bathroom. "The beach?" 

You laugh, the sound echoing off the tiles of the surrounding room. "I don't know. You and Bruce figure something out and surprise me."

You leave him to figure out the plans for the day while you're in the shower. When you exit the bathroom he isn't in bed still. Sounds from the kitchen give you a hint as to his whereabouts. He's making breakfast - enough for Bruce and Richard, when they arrive, too.

Richard even finds time to grab a bite before shuttling you on to work. "Tom, you're a godsend. A hot home cooked breakfast? Stay forever?"

"Love to. Just need to make sure the kitchen is well stocked." 

You make a face at the both of them. Somehow that sounded like a dig at your tendency to eat out. Your cabinets and refrigerator had the necessities. Most of the time you'd been cooking for one so where was the need for an abundance of food? 

You're glad, once arriving on set, that you'd suggested Tom do something else today. Another note is waiting for you in your dressing room: 

_Don't you see how much I love you, _____? That's what red tulips mean. Love. -- Yours, only yours, MC_

You stare at the note where it still sits on the counter. You're loathe to touch it. Richard is reading it over your shoulder while you pinch the bridge of your nose and mutter. "I don't see. I don't see because I don't know who the fuck you are!"

How much money was this MC person prepared to throw into buying tulips for you? This time there are two additional red tulips in the bunch. Red is now surpassing the count of white, edging out the calming color with each new bouquet. 

Love? This is not love. This is psychological warfare. 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tom will be coming to stay with you soon - and Ben’s premiere is on the horizon. So many good things to try to outweigh the bad - namely your tulip-happy ‘friend’._

After his short stay with you and the calm that came with it, you feel Tom’s absence more clearly when he heads back to continue filming. You leave one of the kitchen chairs slightly askew, his forgotten jacket hanging on the back of it. It’s a nice reminder that greets you each morning before you leave for work – a way to help motivate you to face another day.

The bouquet of tulips is now nearly entirely red. Richard is still throwing it away every time it appears, but really – what’s the point? It is obvious that _MC_ won’t stop delivering them. The thought shakes you as soon as it registers in your brain that you’d considered it. You’re trying to make it easier on the person keeping you on edge? That’s supremely messed up.

You’re seeing tulips every time you close your eyes. Flashes of red fill the void on the counter-space in your dressing room when the bouquet isn’t there. You’re starting to hate the color red altogether – incredibly unfortunate that in Touring Sundays 2 you are clothed in varying shades of it.

Your father has gotten it in his head that he needs to hear your voice every morning, making it a requirement that you call him once you arrive on set. The one morning you tried texting and then turning your phone on silent ended with the call from your father coming through Richard. He’s worried, you get that, but having him daily reiterate his desire that you leave the production and come home doesn’t help matters in the slightest. For the time being you make reassuring noises and hope that the reevaluation of all the security clearances issued to the building will soon render something fruitful.

You’ve survived the notes and flowers this long, every day telling yourself: surely _MC_ will slip up soon and be caught in the act of delivering them. The studio has had enough. They have faith in Richard and the security team but higher-ups have decided that it has gone on too long. To take more immediate action, they post someone outside your dressing room door permanently - determined to catch the person in the act. Once they’ve been caught, the matter settled, you can go back to focusing on your job and the fact that Tom will be staying with you on a more permanent basis.

But the reason Tom will be daily making the long drive back and forth is _MC_ – so if that reason is gone, will he still stay? It isn’t exactly a convenient arrangement, no matter how enjoyable it might be to spend more time together.

You silently scroll through your phone on the ride to set with Richard. The car rides will return to the laughter filled adventures of the past once all this is behind you. Both you and Richard are just stressed. Neither of you are up for the usual banter, not even after consuming the usual coffee. Maybe you’ll be in better spirits once Tom returns tomorrow. Tom will have both Bruce and John accompanying him – Richard will surely appreciate that for Ben’s premiere the following evening.

Richard nods hello to the guard standing to the side of your dressing room door. For the first time in so many weeks you can walk into the room without wondering what surprises lay in wait. Maybe you’ll actually be able to sit and enjoy the room once more – no more trailing after Andrew or Matt during your downtime like a quivering puppy.

No you’re not quite there yet. You still feel the stranger’s presence prompting the haunting thought that you’ll turn around and discover another something from _MC_.

A few days of calm. A few days of security. A few days of normality, that’s all you ask. Maybe then you’ll stop seeing phantom tulips.

Perhaps normal isn’t quite the right word for your life now. Interviews, commercials, highly anticipated film projects, innumerable invitations to events… Thinking about upcoming events turns your thoughts towards Benedict’s premiere.

You’ve gotten the dress choices for the premiere narrowed down to two, two that hang in your bedroom demanding you make a decision. The first is a deep blue something that will surely bring out the blue of Tom’s eyes when he stands next to you under the barrage of flashing lights, the other choice is a vibrant emerald green dress featuring an asymmetrical hemline and a more daring neckline.

You had been tempted at first to go with a backless black dress but Matt had talked you into wearing a little more color. The black dress, you argued, was more a cocktail dress than full on evening gown – thereby more fitting the event. This is just a premiere – a bigger premiere, but a premiere all the same – not an awards show.

Matt had just repeatedly given his head a shake to combat your doubts, “Green or blue. Wear the black one on a night out dancing with Tom.”

Choosing between the two dresses seems impossible. Every time you think you’re close to making up your mind in favor of one you note another detail of the other dress that sends you careening towards that option. You’ll get Tom involved in making the final decision. At the first opportunity you’d sent him a shot of you modeling the black dress. His response was a snapshot of him arching an eyebrow while giving the camera a cheeky smile. _Gorgeous, darling. Can’t wait to see you model them all **in person**._

Oh that face. Every time you need to smile, every time you feel worn down, you pull out your phone to look at that picture. Soon you’ll sometimes be able to do that in person. Just turn and find him sitting there next to you… What a thought.

You’re cutting it close when you and Richard depart the set to prep for dinner before Tom’s arrival. The plan is dinner for everyone at your place tonight, Tom, Richard, John, and Bruce. There is no way everybody can squeeze around the kitchen table. You’ll have to move things around in the main room and make people sit on the loveseat and eat off the coffee table.

The dinner you have planned is nothing in comparison to the dinners that Tom has served up in the past. You are definitely going to have to start researching recipes and actually have the patience to wait out the cooking process. You can’t let him best you when it comes to serving up delicious food.

Upon arriving home you begin the prep in the kitchen while Richard makes his now-routine inspection of the place. On the bright side, his daily security sweeps keep you motivated to maintain a clean house. No dirty laundry lying about in the bedroom. The messiest room in the place is the living room where you have a mixture of fanmail and notes regarding the production spread out.

If you’d planned better you might have been able to make your father’s signature Bolognese sauce – he’d offered to talk you through it – but it takes all day to make. With Richard staying with you on set still there isn’t anybody to sit around and monitor the slow simmer. Oh well, another time.

“Place is secure.” Richard announces as he joins you in the kitchen. He heads straight to the sink to wash his hands before handling the food.

You’ve taken the job of chopping up the vegetables for the kabobs. The sirloin pieces are already marinating but you don’t want to cook them until everyone else arrives for dinner. You puff out a breath. They will catch _MC_ soon and the security sweeps will be a thing of the past. Tom will be living with you – at least for the duration of his current project. You hadn’t discussed plans beyond that timeframe. “Yep. Everything just as we left it this morning. Secure like the day before. And the day before that. And the…”

He ignores your slightly irritated tone. “Just doing my job.” He surveys you cutting up the red and green peppers. “Left the onions for me, I see. Remind me again, in the movies you play…”

You shrug, “Someone who doesn’t enjoy chopping onions.”

He snorts and sidles up to the counter beside you to begin the process of cutting the onions into large chunks. Kabobs had been his idea after you’d started to spiral out regarding what to serve for dinner. Simple and never fails to be a crowd pleaser. You only manage to nearly stab yourself once while loading up the skewers.

\--

“Well it was straight… Will you stop that? You’re making me nervous.” You tap Tom’s hand down from where it had flown to touch the knot at his neck. The more he fiddles with his tie as he stands there in front of the mirror the more your stomach twists into knots. He’s walked the red carpet thousands of times, why is he so twitchy?

His brow is furrowed in concentration as he stares at his reflection in the mirror. “I’m sorry darling,” His gaze flicks to you moments before he turns to face you. “I don’t mean to make you nervous. It’s just that we’ve not gotten to attend an event together before. I’m excited.”

You don’t have your heels on yet so you’re holding the dress off the floor with one hand. Under his appreciative gaze your skin starts to burn. “Ok stop that. I think I’m ready to go. You?”

“Ready.” He looks pointedly down at the floor and your bare feet. “I think you’re missing something though sweetheart.”

You can’t help but smile back at him. God it’s good to have him back where you can reach out and touch him on a whim. “They’re in the other room.” When you turn to walk back to meet John, Bruce, and Richard at the door Tom makes a little noise. You peek back over your shoulder with one eyebrow raised. “Hmmm? What?”

Tom coughs and reaches up to ruffle his hair. “Nothing. Shoes. You need shoes.”

You know exactly what had prompted the strangled noise and why he’s now struggling with where to look. The back of your dress forces the eye to your ass via the angles of the straps and the long open back that tapers to a point a little below your hipline. It’s highly satisfying knowing that you can elicit the same reaction from him that he does from you.

You perch on the loveseat next to Richard while you put on the heels. “Even with the shoes you’re going to tower over me Tom.”

Bruce adjusts his jacket and laughs, “Stilts just wouldn’t match the dress.”

You grant him a nod. “No, no they wouldn’t.” You’ll be surrounded by tall, well dressed men tonight. You’ll be in heaven.

You can’t wait to see Ben. Things have been so hectic with work and – you will only think of the situation once and then push the sour feeling aside for today – _MC_ that you haven’t been able to talk much with Ben since finishing _Jack & Emily_. Occasional phone calls and exchanged text messages just aren’t the same. There won’t be much time for catching up tonight – Benedict has numerous obligations for the event – but he has been hinting that he has a surprise that he wants to share with both you and Tom. It isn’t something about _Jack & Emily_ – you’d have heard any news regarding changes to the project via Mark.

John, Bruce, Richard, Tom and you – the lot of you make quite the procession walking along the carpet situated between the fans and cameras. They’ve got it divided, public on one side, press on the other – all held separate from the carpeted walkway by a short retaining wall. You’re no better with large events now than you have been in the past. The thing that keeps you anchored is Tom’s steady grip on your hand.

The procession pauses for the obligatory photos before the media wall. Everyone is calling both your names. It is hard to know where to look. You fall back on what you used to do on the stage back home – to combat the feeling you got from the spotlight you would pick out a spot in the middle distance and focus on that. Some people suggested finding someone in the front row, but that sometimes proved more distracting than helpful.

Then you hear Tom’s soft words, they pull you back into the moment with him. “I’m dying to know Benedict’s big secret. Do you see him?”

You glance up at Tom and give his hand a squeeze. “No? I’m standing right beside you. And can’t see much other than the flashing lights right now.” He wants to have a conversation right now? “I guess we’ll just have to listen for when they stop shouting at us and start saying his name.”

Richard returns to his post beside you once the photographers are satisfied with their photo session. Your group makes it a little closer to the building before you are alerted to Benedict’s arrival. You can’t see him at this point so you are relying on Tom’s height to let you know how long it will take for Benedict to make it to your location. “He’s gotten stopped again.” Tom laughs.

“It would probably be easier to talk to him once we’re all inside, don’t you think?”

Tom nods but doesn’t look away from his friend, now that he’s spotted Benedict he’s tracking his every movement like a hawk. Then his eyebrows raise, “Well now, maybe that’s the surprise.”

Damn that tall man and his teasing. “What? I can’t see around everyone.”

“Unless she’s just trying to get around his group and…” Tom is muttering. You can’t help him debate over what he’s seeing so you’ve no choice but to leave him to mutter to himself. “Nope. He just took a step over to stand by her. Hang on he’s looking this way…” Tom raises his free hand to wave a silent hello over the heads of the crowd. He still has his eyes locked on his friend. “C’mon. If we wait here it’ll take all night. Let’s walk down and meet them.” He starts weaving his way through the people milling about, pulling you along behind him and leaving Richard, Bruce, and John scrambling to catch up. He talks to you in snippets as you make progress towards where Ben is standing. “You’ll love her dress. She’s wearing blue, too, but lighter.”

Ben brought someone with him! Didn’t he once say he usually brought someone from his PR firm or his mother since he usually didn’t have time to date? This means he met someone? Ah you’re excited. And damn you wish you could see past all these people. You catch a glimpse of Ben for a moment before he is hidden from your eye-line again.

Richard and John have opted for the easier route, monitoring your progress from the outskirt of the carpet. Evidently Bruce got hung up back at the doors to the building. He’ll either wait there or catch up with everyone once you make it to Benedict.

Benedict who has actually stopped what he was doing to walk a bit towards you and Tom. He has his arms outstretched, ready for a hug, when you finally clear the final group standing in the way. He pulls each of you into his arms in turn. “_______! Tom! I want you to meet Violet.”

When Benedict turns to look at her his face absolutely lights up. The expression is mirrored from her to him, as well. Then she turns to greet you, “Hello ______, Tom.” She’s holding her own on the carpet while Benedict bobs back and forth between greeting people, giving interviews, and walking alongside her. Her dress is gorgeous – you can see now that it isn’t actually a blue dress as Tom had described but a nude tone dress with a blue tulle overlay that shimmers under the lights.

His people are both trying to herd him along towards interviews and keep him on schedule for the start of the movie and he’s determined to stand there and talk in the little group. He finally relents, “Villy, ______, Tom – sorry I’ll be along in a minute.”

And then he’s gone again. Off to stare into an intense light and discuss the film with another journalist. You smile at Violet, “So is it Violet or Villy?”

“Please call me Villy. I don’t know why he introduced me by my given name. Nobody really calls me that.” She flushes slightly and reaches up to tuck some of her dark curls behind her ear.

You are regaled as to the full story regarding how they met once Ben rejoins you and the group is able to amble inside. She is a costume and jewelry designer in the area and is supplying pieces for the various costumes for the current project that Ben is working on. He had been searching out a gift for his mother and remembered the beauty of the pieces. After spending some time working with her to design a necklace and bracelet set for his mother he’d become smitten with the talented young business owner.

You, too, are smitten with her. The pair of you already have plans for an outing together on your next off day, as Tom will be working until late in the evening. That’s all in the future, though. More immediately – Ben’s film gets a great reception and you are able to get out of those blasted shoes as soon as your group is safely ensconced in the car and headed home.

You’re the second one up and out of bed in the morning. Tom leaves with John just before the sun peaks through the bedroom window pane. The subject of your morning runs had been brought up on the car ride home and Bruce had offered to go running with you and Richard – if you felt up to it. It’s John’s turn now to provide a protective detail for Tom so Bruce will be flying back in the evening. “Better to get my exercise in while I can before sitting for so long on the flight.”

Since you’d fallen out of the routine of running the three of you don’t have the duckling line of cameramen running along with you. It’s nice. Perhaps this will be what life will be like once things die down in terms of your notoriety. The steady rhythm of your footfalls is soothing, too. You’d stopped running for good reason, but you’ve missed this – the exertion, the focus. Maybe you should consider the suggestion that a second bodyguard is hired until this _MC_ mess can be sorted.

They’ll catch him soon. They’ll catch him soon.

You nod hello to the guard standing at your dressing room door. You still catch yourself checking the counter-space for any new ‘gifts’. It’s a silly notion to think that something might still be there, but you’d nearly convinced yourself _MC_ was your Phantom. These few days of relief from the mind-fuck that was the whole _MC_ debacle enables you to concentrate more on your role. This sequel had been something you’d fantasized about and now you’re letting the experience slip past you.

_Dinner?_ Tom’s text catches you off guard. Was it that late already? Your shoot is running long today. If he’d stuck to his schedule better than you had yours, he and John are already on the road headed this way. Maybe they can stop and pick something up? Or you can coax Richard into doing so…

_Running late on my end. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving. See you at home._ You stare at the message for a moment after sending it. You can’t help but smile. Home. You’ll get home tonight and Tom will be there.

Tom had left before the sun had risen today, and you’re arriving home as the sun is setting. It’s enough. It’s wonderful. You’ll take as much exposure to the man as you can manage. Maybe you’ll change your mind about that after a month or two of having the toothpaste tube squished from the middle rather than the end. There are a million little things that you learn about someone once you see them on a day to day basis that you never would have known about otherwise.

Richard is about to pull into his usual parking spot when you note the rental that Tom is using for the time being is already in the parking lot. It’s already so late, and he’ll have to turn around and be back early in the morning to pick you up… you shake your head. “We’re good, Richard. John and Tom are already here. You don’t have to come up and inspect the place. Let John take a turn or two.” He is hesitant but you already have your seatbelt unbuckled and the door open before he can move the car any further.

You shake your head at Richard, who watches from the car as you walk towards the building. He doesn’t pull away until you’ve used your keys to open the door. You and Tom had already established the rule that even if someone was home the door would be locked. Better safe than sorry. You call out as you drop your bag and keys into their usual spot, “Hi! Sorry I’m in a bit late…. Hello?”

No response.

The place isn’t that big. Maybe Tom sent John out to get dinner and then went to change. Someone will appear shortly. Hungry, you head towards the kitchen. Tom had sent the text about dinner. But you don’t smell anything cooking. Had he already had something to eat with John rather than waiting for you? Maybe they’ve gone out to grab a drink while they wait for you to come home. You’ll grab a quick something and then send Tom a text to let him know you’re home, finally.

There are two wine glasses set out on the counter. Ah – Tom knew you’d want something after getting home for the day. Shame he isn’t here to share it with you. You’ll rub that in when he gets back. Maybe something had been forgotten on set and they had to head back to retrieve it? No – that didn’t track. The car was still in the parking lot. Unless they’d rented another. John and Bruce have different preferences when it comes to vehicles.

Whatever. You’ll get it all sorted in a minute. Right now you’re going to put one of the two wine glasses to use. You scrunch your nose at the bottle of red wine, but as it is the only option on hand at the moment it’ll have to do. You’ve started to pour the liquid into the glass when you hear the sound of running water from down the hall. The bathroom.

Ah. No wonder you hadn’t gotten any response. Living alone has made your forget a key something – people tend to shut the door when they use the bathroom, thereby making them unable to hear any called greetings.

Well now you feel a bit silly. And very glad you didn’t send any of the texts you’d started to compose in your head asking him his whereabouts. Imagine the reply! _In the loo. Patience is a virtue._ You try to suppress the giggle. Poor Tom – wanted to surprise you with the drinks and now you’ll be surprising him.

At the sound of footfall headed towards the kitchen you speak, “Hey. I’m sorry I didn’t wait. I’m just pouring myself a glass. Did you want…” The wine bottle slips from your hands and crashes to the tile floor in an explosion of green glass and red liquid.

Tom is not the man who walks into your kitchen.

 


	51. Chapter 51

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your relationship with Tom is back on solid ground. You’re busy filming the sequel to the movie that won you your first award, Tom is filming in the same state - he’s even staying with you. Thinking about all the positives helps to distract from the negative. The most concerning negative? At the moment? The stranger standing in your kitchen._

Red wine is seeping into the grout between the tiles on the kitchen floor, sure to leave a stain. The smell is a little overpowering as you’re standing over the mess. The wine isn’t just on the floor though, the impact of the bottle hitting the floor sent droplets of wine up onto the cabinets, the baseboard, the nearby wall, and you.

Again with the color red. That’s been the theme as of late. Red haunting you at every turn – all, presumably, at the hand of the man now blocking the only exit from the room. The man you can’t take your eyes from.

You had sent your bodyguard on without another thought about it. This situation could have been avoided if you’d just let Richard do his job. But no – you’d seen the vehicle driven by Tom and _his_ security guard in the parking lot and assumed Tom and John were home. They should have been home. Should have been – but apparently weren’t.

But the front door had been locked! No alarm bells had gone off in your head when you walked in the door, which is why everything – your keys, your phone, your handbag, _everything_ – is currently sitting on the table just inside the door.

With this man blocking the kitchen doorway, those things are well beyond your reach.

“Hello ______.”

He is all smiles, which makes your skin crawl just a little bit more. Who _is_ this man? You blink. He isn’t a stranger. Where have you seen him? Around the set? At a press conference? Somewhere on the street? Recognition hits as you study his face. It _was_ on set – you’ve seen him in passing a few times, actually. Never formally introduced, that you can recall. He’s always maintained his distance.

Your mouth doesn’t want to use the words sent forth by your brain. “W-what…. Who are you?”

At your question his smile falters just a bit before returning full force, “Oh. The beard an’ dye job.” He motions to his well-maintained beard and hooks his left hand momentarily behind his neck before dropping it to his side again. “Had me worried for a minute there, _______. Not remembering me…”

After first rounding the corner he’d taken a few steps into the room. Since then he hasn’t moved and neither have you. You’re trying to motivate your body into responding to your brain’s urge to fucking flee but thus far, no dice. All that training to be on your toes and ready for action for the Touring Sundays films and you’re stuck to the spot, as though someone cemented your feet to the floor.

But then you don’t want to set this guy off. Right now he may be smiling, but if you try to run? Before you can consider trying to slip past him you at least need to arm yourself. In your peripheral vision you can see the knife block – over beyond the paper towels – but it would mean taking steps into the mess made by the broken wine bottle. More concerning, you’d have to get closer to the man who is still prattling on with that huge damn smile on his face. 

There's nothing to it. You'll have to chance it.

“They said it’d work, for a little while. Course the fake id really’s what got me in the door. Dave. What sort of name is Dave? Anyway. You learn all sorts of things when… oh, careful. Wouldn’t want to get cut.” He pauses his litany when you take a cautious step forward, your shoe crunching down into the broken glass.

His subsequent approach, just a few steps along with his cautious warning, bring you to a halt. You’re still too far away from the knife block for that to be of any use and he’s entirely too close for comfort. You try to stop your hands from visibly shaking by moving them around to reference the mess of broken glass and red wine. “It’ll ah… it’ll stain.”

Oh thank god the paper towel roll is close enough to make it believable that you were going for that. You fumble with it while trying to tear off a sheet, while also keeping your eyes locked on the stranger. The roll tumbles from the counter to the floor and bounces along, absorbing the red wine in splotches as it falls into the liquid.

“Here, I’ll get the glass.” He closes the distance faster than you can backpedal. Your few sliding steps backward are marked by smears of red. His approach takes the possibility of using the knives within the knife block to defend yourself out of play. You now see the single red rose he’s holding out towards you with his right hand. “For you. Watch the thorns.”

You do your best not to jerk away at his offering. Still, it’s a near miss in knocking over the wine glasses with your arm when you shift your weight away from him, the action also causing you to bang your hip into the cabinets. You can hear the rims of the glasses rocking on the counter as they settle back into the upright position.

He frowns at your hesitation to accept the rose. “You do like roses, right? They’ve a different smell than tulips but I thought it’d be a nice change. Good way to celebrate…  It wasn’t you that was throwing them away. The tulips. Right? It was _Richard_. Right?”

He’s got a thing against Richard. Well, that makes sense, really. Stalkers probably tend not to be overly fond of those that stand between them and the object of their focus. You swallow, though your mouth is dry. Quickly on the heels of that thought comes another: He said _tulips_. “He… you’re _MC_.”

Hadn’t he called himself Dave? Said he was going by Dave? What did the initials stand for, then?

He reaches over and draws a knife from the block, sending your stomach into freefall. You’re desperately trying to remember anything your instructor has said about defending yourself against an armed attacker. The small segment of paper towels gripped in your hand won’t do much in terms of protection. You should have gone for a dishcloth… You're not even wearing long sleeves...

_MC_ – or is it Dave – is still apparently thoroughly enjoying himself. He is moving so easily about your kitchen you feel a little bile fighting to come up your throat. Either he’s had a little while to get familiar with the place today, or he’s been in here before.

He swipes the knife across the rose stem to cut it short, then replaces the knife in the block. He nods sideways to you while filling one of the wine glasses with water from the sink and, after filling the glass about halfway, deposits the rose within the glass. “Yea. I was a little worried you wouldn’t make the connection, but with the restraining order… had to throw off _Richard_ any way I could. Would have just used my own initials otherwise.” He turns to beam at you again, “I knew you knew. I knew you knew and you understood, when you smiled at me that first day I was able to be here.”

Your vision sways. _Restraining order._

Oh no. No, no that mess was firmly in your past. No no _no._ Your voice sounds tinny when you reply, “Restraining order.” You already know the explanation you’ll get from him. But no, part of your brain protests, he’s supposed to be locked up. It hasn’t been a year yet. No no no.

“I don’t blame you for that, either.” He steps to go for the drawer where your dishcloths are kept, still pleasant and calm. “At first it made it difficult to keep up with you – but a few of the guys helped me with a way around how they’d monitor my internet time.” Again he turns those deep-set, dark eyes on you and smiles, “You learn all sorts of fun things in the pen.”

His definition of fun and yours clearly don’t match.

You can see it now, so blatantly obvious that you marvel at how you’d missed it before. The beard hides his face a bit, but it’s him. It’s hard to miss now that the connection has been made in your brain; now that you’re really looking. _Mitch Daniels_. This is the man that had stolen your bracelet, broken into your hotel, and destroyed all your belongings. He’s gained more weight since you last put the name to the face. Before he’d had a bit of bulk on him, but it appears he’d spent just as much time in prison eating as he had weight lifting. How much of this was weight gain to hide his features versus weight gain to combat his obsession?

Mitch stoops down and drags the dishcloth across the floor, smearing the puddle of red and grinding glass across the tiles. He’s chosen a spot that still keeps his body between you and the door. If you move any further back in the room you’ll be wedged into the corner by the refrigerator and that will leave you with absolutely no opportunity to get around him. As it stands you’ll have to be careful to avoid the kitchen chair that is pulled away from the table. And then there’s the loveseat once you make it to the living room, still jutting out in the path you’d need to take to run to the door.

Damn it all why didn’t you listen to Richard and rearrange your furniture?

Lamenting that point doesn’t do you a bit of good right now. You’ve got to get ahold of yourself. Think. Think. Figure out a plan. Talk to Mitch. Engage him. Distract him. Find a way out.

You just can’t think of where to start.

Mitch is first to break the silence again. “Seemed a little obvious to sign Mitch. And… added bonus.” He pauses smearing the wine around on the floor and rolls up his sleeve of his right arm to show a heart tattoo – your name and the words _Mi Corazon_ held within. 

The look he’s giving you is a mixture of pride and adoration. You’re feeling a mixture of nausea and fear.

“It’s,” you swallow and try to smile, “lovely.”

“Got it right after you broke up with _him_.”

He can’t even bring himself to mention Tom by name. Oh God. Wherever Tom is, you hope he stays there. Maybe Richard will call with some last minute question and worry when you don’t answer the phone. Maybe he’ll then call Tom and John and realize they aren’t here. Maybe then he’ll turn the car around. And maybe….

Maybe that’s a lot of maybes.

“Thought about writing but figured they’d see the return address and trash it.” Mitch shakes a few green slivers of glass from the dish cloth and looks up at you, “Gotta admit. A little disappointed to hear you’d taken him back.” He rests his arm on one of his knees to better maintain the squatting position he’s in.

Your heart skips a few beats. You really don’t like the way he said _a little disappointed_.

For the first time since he appeared in the doorway of your kitchen, your eyes drift away from his figure. Tom’s things are littering the bedroom. It’s clear that someone else is living here with you. And Mitch had been in another room when you first walked in… You jerk your attention back to Mitch when he starts to stand. Most of the little shards of wine bottle are now scooped into the base of the bottle itself which still sits on the floor. He’s got the neck of the bottle and a few of the larger shards held within the dishcloth in his hands.

He’s back to watching you. He gives you a little nod, knowing exactly what just crossed your mind just from the direction of your glance. His dark stare makes all the little hairs on your skin stand on end. “Yea. That was a disappointment, too. Finding his stuff everywhere.” He lets out a rumbled chuckle, “Took care of that, though.”

Now what the hell does that mean? Are you wrong in the assumption that nobody was here other than you and Mitch? Your throat tightens.

Oh God oh God! 

No. No. You clamp down on the panic. Mitch would be bragging about it if he’d gotten the jump on Tom. Tom is safe. Tom is fine. Tom is off somewhere with John and none-the-wiser to your current predicament. If only you were _there_ rather than _here_.

But you can be out of here – you just need to find your moment.

Focus. Focus. 

“Sit. We’ll talk. I’ll put this down and we can have some _us_ time.” He motions to the kitchen table with the neck of the wine bottle.

It hadn’t been a gentle request. It’s as though he can read your body language, just as Tom usually does. You’re doing your best to keep your thoughts hidden but it doesn’t seem to be doing much good. He’s clearly gotten very good at reading you. Just how long has he been out? How long has he been here, working at the studio, and watching you? Shouldn’t you have gotten a notice?

Oh but when he’s depositing the broken glass in the trash and getting a new bottle you can make a dash for the door. You’ll dump the chair backwards and pray that he’ll stumble over it, maybe even get tangled. You just have to remember to vault the loveseat, and possibly snag your bag, and then you’re home free. You can call Richard or John once you’re out on the sidewalk. Given enough uninterrupted space surely you can outrun him.

Mitch is stalling, waiting to see you settle into one of the kitchen chairs. The moment he turns his back on you you’re making a run for it.

The sound of the front door lock clicking open steals away your breath and sends you plan spiraling. 

Let it be Richard, worried that you aren’t answering your phone. Let it be John. Please let Tom have stopped to check the mail. Please God don’t let Tom be the first through the door.

Mitch spins the broken neck of the wine bottle in his right hand, pushes the dishcloth full of glass onto the countertop to free up the other, and then turns back to you. He puts one finger to his lips and nods at the chair. “ _Sit._ ” He commands, quietly. 

Like. Hell.

You and Mitch are staring each other down, his smile quickly turning into a scowl. You can hear John’s distant laughter to Tom’s words - the payoff to Tom's punchline. 

Mitch knows before you even open your mouth what you’re going to do and starts to turn to take the few steps to silence you. You have no intention of letting him hurt Tom.

Now what is the word for _armed intruder_? Cabbage? No… Rumrunner!

“Rumrunner!” You scream as loud as you can while watching Mitch’s scowl turn to fury. You scramble backwards as Mitch lunges at you, “Rumrunner! Tom! Rumrunner - get out!” 


	52. Chapter 52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You have a stalker. Not just that, but a stalker that is in your kitchen with you. The main goal was to get out, get away… but that was before Tom and his bodyguard came home. Now it’s just stalling for time._

All you have to do is stay a few steps ahead of the burly man wielding a broken wine bottle. Simple enough. Except that in your smallish kitchen, there really isn’t anywhere to _go_.

You’re backing up as fast as you possibly can and trying to keep your feet under you – quite the task considering the debris on the floor.

 _Shit shit shit_.

You can hear John and Tom shouting, but it seems distant.  Far too distant to be of immediate use -- and you don’t dare pull your eyes from their current target.

Right now all your focus is on Mitch, no longer smiling at you with that predatory grin, but snarling as you do your best to avoid him. He lunges, sending himself into the far corner by the fridge, thankfully not getting a firm enough grasp on your arm to pull you into the corner with him. “Where do you think you are going ______?” You spin to keep him in your sights. At least he isn’t standing between you and the door anymore. “You’ve only just arrived….”

You shudder as you try to reach out with your left hand to find the counter. Taking your eyes off him would be foolish but you’ve become disoriented. Are you one step away from the cabinetry? Two? And where is the knife block relative to your current location?

Your hand keeps meeting empty air.

_Shit shit shit!_

Mitch has squared himself off again, coiling up to give another go at ensnaring you. You take a step back and hear a crunch – you’ve stepped back into the pile of glass that Mitch had created while cleaning the floor. The shards of the wine bottle offer you no purchase on the kitchen tiles. You’ve already started to shift your weight onto that foot and your leg is slipping from beneath you.

There is no time to right yourself. Your forearm cracks down onto the countertop just moments before your shoulder, neck, and head meet with that same unforgiving surface.

And now your kitchen is slightly out of focus.

How helpful.

Your half-grip on the counter prevents you from slipping all the way down onto the floor. If you go down there might not be a chance to get up again. You try to blink the scene back into focus and get your feet back under you.

There isn’t time for this. Mitch is advancing again, able to move his large form much faster than you’d anticipated. There is no hope for you dodging his grasp this time.  You manage to push yourself up and off the counter just seconds before being forced into it again, the weight of the others causing you to slam back into the cabinetry.

Help has arrived.

And then there’s shouting. Entirely too much shouting and shoving.

You need to breathe. You need the space to breathe.

Your brain has disconnected. You are taken back to the discussion a few weeks prior. Bruce, Richard, and Tom are brainstorming with you, seated around a small table on the rooftop seating of a nearby pub. You’d needed something to help relax and a few drinks during a night out was just the ticket. It had been too noisy to think inside at the bar where the crowd was congregated.

Outside on the roof, your group is tended by one of the waitresses and, for the most part, left alone. There had been talk about dialing John in, maybe others, but the idea was nixed in favor of updating all necessary parties later. It is late. Once decisions have been made everyone not-present can be updated.

“How about rumrunner?” You take a sip of your drink after smiling at the cocktail in your hand. You’d ordered it on a whim, learning two things: one, your bartender is a bit heavy handed with the rum, and two, it is fucking delicious. Or – now two drinks in – maybe that is just the feeling of all the stress from the week floating away with every additional swallow.

The rest at the table are not amused by your suggestion. “_______, _please_ take this seriously.” Richard says, with a low, strained scowl.

The lovely buzz you’re feeling is making ‘taking this seriously’ quite the challenge. Rumrunner – definitely going to be the word of warning. There’s no changing it now. When the hell are you ever going to use it anyway? Richard is always at your side, pretty much being your non-stop companion since this whole thing started swerving wildly out of control.

“C’mon. It’s supposed to be a word I can’t accidentally use in normal conversation… Hate to have any of you tackle someone innocently striking up a conversation.” Conversation. Now there’s a fun word to say when your lips are threatening to go numb.

“But it’s supposed to be one that _makes sense_ , too. Not alert the subject that you’re calling for help.” More scowling from Richard. Those frown lines seem permanently etched on his face these days.

You nod to Richard before turning to Tom, “It makes sense! I can use it in a sentence, see…. Hey Tom – remember when we were out the other day and had that delicious drink? It had an interesting name didn’t it? Rum….”

Bruce, trying to help, pushes the conversation on. “What about an unarmed --”

“Bluebell.” You don’t even let him finish his question, since he cut you off from your example. If he hadn’t broken in you would have gone on to pretend you were in a spelling bee, spelling out _rumrunner_ for the group.

 _R-U-M-R_ ….

Richard sighs, “_______.”

Again, you voice the first word to pop into your head and it nets disapproval. Okay – a different word then… “Acorn?” Still no real support. What do they want? A boring word like _paperwork_? That’s not happening. “Cabbage!”

Tom has been silently sipping at his own drink, trying to stay out of trouble by letting you dig your own hole. You had nixed his earlier suggestions as too bland so maybe he’s pouting… or maybe he’s just too entertained by your mounting intoxication.

Bruce shrugs at Richard, indicating he’s at a loss to steer you in the right direction as well. “Maybe we should hold off until alcohol isn’t involved?”

Probably a smart idea. But when will the next time be when the lot of you can sit around for more than a few minutes without someone having to keep an eye on the clock before rushing off to the next thing?

Richard sighs and eyes the glass in your hand. “How much liquor is in that thing? Let’s order you some water.”

“Not _that_ much. And it has er…. Some fruit, er orange juice, and um something… it’s not all rum.”

You watch as he hops up to pluck a menu from a nearby table and tries to scour the page for the ingredient list to your drink. In this low light Richard is having to lean forward to squint at the words. “Rum and what again?”

You lean as well so you can try to point out the drink. You list out the one thing you can remember other than the massive amounts of rum, “Orange juice… and….” 

Tom clamps his hand on your wrist, hard. The action makes you rock back into your seat with a thump. You weren’t leaning that far out of your chair – so what on earth was that for? 

“Rumrunner?” Richard is none-the-wiser, still looking at the menu. Bruce doesn’t seem to notice Tom’s manner either. He takes a sip of his drink, still watching Richard look over the menu.

Tom hasn’t released you even though you’re seated again and the pressure on your arm is starting to get uncomfortable. You reply to Richard while trying to pull your arm from Tom’s grasp, “Rumrunner, yes. Rumrunner.” You swivel your attention back to Tom, still unable to pry yourself loose from him, “Tom – what the hell?”

“ _Rumrunner._ ” He whispers at you.

You blink at him. “Yes… that’s what I said… Rumrunner.”

Tom half stands, looming over the table to come closer to you. “I know – I know. Rumrunner.” And Richard is giving _you_ a hard time about how strong _your_ drinks were… You try again to shake him off but he won’t let go. Worse than that is the strange smile he’s giving you. “Rumrunner, ________.”

Bruce and Richard still haven’t reacted to Tom’s strange behavior. This isn’t like Tom. You frown at him, managing to worm your way out of your chair to try to twist yourself from his grip. He stands as well, moving closer to you and reaffirming his vicelike grasp on your arm.

Why won’t he let go? Why isn’t Richard, or Bruce, reacting? You glance over to find they’re no longer sitting at the table. The entire rooftop is empty now. Where did they go? Where did everyone go?

Something isn’t right. This isn’t right.

“Tom! What’s gotten into you? That hur…” Your words stall as Tom’s broad shoulders expand, his waist broadens, and his hair starts to change color and length. Last to melt away are the fine features of his face, and then you’re no longer staring at Tom.

Mitch. He gives you a jerk to pull you close, only inches from your face when he chuckles out, “ _Rumrunner._ ”

This is a memory that is blending into a nightmare. No – not just a nightmare. Mitch was in your kitchen. _Is –_ you correct yourself – _is_ in your kitchen. And you slipped and hit your head. _Focus. Focus, ______. Focus on your kitchen._

_Focus._

You’re still pinned against the cabinets, with the countertop digging into your side. It’s hard to tell what exactly you’re seeing. Torsos, flailing limbs. Somebody standing far too close. Shaking your head doesn’t help much. It only makes the room shudder a little more before your eyes. There are more shouts – short bursts of words that don’t translate well to your ears – strained grunts… and the pressure of someone’s fixed grip on your arm.

“Sweetheart? Shit – John? You’ve got him? John, she hit her head.” Tom’s words are soft and urgent.

John’s response is strained. You can’t see him, for Tom blocking your view. “Got him. Got him.”

You try to push Tom away from you so you can draw in a solid breath. Oxygen might help to solidify his form. As it stands he’s just a bit too hazy. It calls to mind how his features had shifted into Mitch’s, something that causes goose-bumps to snake over your skin.

Tom maintains his hold on you. “_______, it’s me. Stop. It’s me.”

Yes. It is Tom. You find those clear blue eyes and don’t look away. He doesn’t have a clue as to the things that just passed through your head, so to him your struggles must seem pure panic. With his hold on your arm, he has your elbow bent sharply so that your hand rests up near your collar. “Let go.” Your words don’t come out with as much authority as you’d like. You at least stop struggling against him.

“No.” He glances over his shoulder for a moment, checking again to make sure John has things well in hand. “Police? EMS? .... Richard?”

“All in route.”

You try again to get Tom to disentangle himself. How he has you cradled into his body isn’t so very uncomfortable, it’s just how he has his huge hand squeezing your forearm that is a problem. “Let go!”

Tom shakes his head in one decisive motion. “No! You’re bleeding.”  

Bleeding? What? “It’s _wine,_ Tom.” It’s all over the floor. All over the cabinet doors, and the walls. Can’t he see that? He can read your disbelief and pulls your arm from how he has it wedged between the pair of you. There is indeed blood oozing from between his fingers. You blink rapidly, taking in this new information, and then your eyes find the rag he has clutched in his other hand. “That’s not… all mine?” If so it is no wonder you’re feeling a little disconnected.

Tom’s face purses into a scowl momentarily as he resettles your injured arm between the pair of you. You appreciate him trying to keep pressure on it but at this rate you’re worried you’ll start to lose feeling in your fingers. “No. Wrestled the wine bottle from _him._ Got my palm. I’m fine, though.”

You struggle against his hold anew, trying to get a better look at his rag-wrapped hand. “Bleeding is _not_ fine, Tom!”

“Well. Glad we’re in agreement on something.” 


	53. Chapter 53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Mitch had been locked up for stalking you and breaking into your hotel room. That time you’d merely walked in on the aftermath of his destructive fixation… this time when you arrive home he is there to greet you. All might have been well if Tom hadn’t been staying with you while filming in the state… or if Tom hadn’t returned with dinner at exactly the wrong moment._

Fragments of Tom and John bickering with each other stick out in your mind later. The rest melds together – which, all things considered, isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“Hold higher up on her arm,” John says, trying to direct Tom without releasing his grip on Mitch. Tricky business, monitoring the man who broke into your place while also making sure both you and Tom are properly taken care of.

“What?” Tom still is applying pressure directly over the gash in your forearm. Maybe that’s helping him focus on something other than his wounded palm.

“Higher up, Tom - _higher_ , towards her elbow...”

“With what hand?”

You still have a free hand. You may be woozy but at least you still remember you have two hands. You’ve been holding onto Tom’s wrist, unsure what else to do. It’s an easy swap. If he’ll just let go…. You release your grasp on Tom’s wrist to wiggle your fingers to indicate its availability.

John speaks deliberately. “Tom. Wrap her arm the way you did your hand. _______, hold that cloth down. Tom, if you pinch….”

Details blur. Richard’s arrival. Categorize him as extremely unhappy. Paramedics arriving, along with police. And then Tom’s arguing again, refusing to leave your side. He protests for the both of you while the paramedics get to work, first cleaning away excess blood to better see the real wounds. As soon as Tom’s uninjured hand is free again you intertwine your fingers with his and have no intention of letting go any time soon.

Your head maintains a dull ache – until they start poking at the tender spot on the back of your head – then you see stars. “Ow.” You mutter. Now you have paramedics, Tom, John, and Richard all hovering around you. You keep your responses limited. If only they’d stick to asking you yes or no questions.

What is your name? – You didn’t hit your head _that_ hard. Tom gives you a look that clearly says: _Humor them._

Do you know where you are? – “Yes.” That doesn’t suit so you add: _your partially destroyed kitchen_. It’s tempting to also add: Los Angeles, California, USA, Earth…. But that’s entirely too much speaking, and would net you another sour look from Tom.

Do you know what day it is? Another yes – you list out the day, month, and year.

Do you remember what happened? Yes, again. But God you wish you didn’t.

Then you’re at the hospital. You’ve never been particularly fond of the smell of hospitals. Disinfectant. That’s what they tell you they all smell like – disinfectant… Yes, and no. There’s something else in the air that makes you uneasy, even if you’re just visiting.

But then today you’re not just visiting.

They continue to poke at you, asking question after question. Doctors, nurses, policemen. Everyone trying to gather all the facts.

You argue the point, quietly, with everyone who will stand still long enough -- regardless of their power over the situation. You’re _fine_. Well, you’re not fine. Your head is starting to ache more insistently, but they’re foregoing any powerful painkillers over concerns that you may have a mild concussion. The thing keeping you distracted from you head is your arm…

They give you a shot – something that burns initially and then, doesn’t – and then start to sew up your arm. It’s actually quite entertaining to watch them poke at you and only feel the dulled tug of the sutures as they work. You only get to examine their stitch work briefly before they cover the area with gauze and tape.

Richard, to his credit, is doing his best not to pass out. It's worth noting that he did blanche a bit when they started tugging at your skin with needle and thread. At least he had the good sense to sit down. And Tom – they’d pried him from your grip so he could be taken to undergo his own examination.

All that considered, you still insist that you’re _fine._ You don’t want to continue this media circus. You just want to go… home? Maybe someplace other than home… someplace that isn’t covered in red wine and glass and hazy, icky memories.

Really, so long as Tom is there _anywhere_ will feel like home.

Except where you are right now. Stuck in this damned hospital room.

You fidget in the bed. They want to hold you overnight “for observation”. Wherever you end up going you’re sure to have at least one other set of eyes glued to you.

Nobody will listen – least of all Richard, who has recovered enough to be a subdued version of his hyper-vigilant self. You’re trying to allow him to do his job – let him keep his focus on the hallway rather than on you – but try as you might you can’t seem to keep yourself from prodding at the tape holding the bandage in place. Richard frowns when you once again trace along the gauze with your index finger. “What’s wrong? Your arm ok? Should I flag down someone to….”

“I’m _fine_. I just want to go home.”

He replies while using his hands to first wave at the empty air before him, then to you to support his statement. “There’s fine and then there’s _you_. Look. Every single medical authority to march themselves in here has recommended it, despite your best efforts. And hell will freeze over before you can talk me into anything again. So give it up. You’re staying.”

Hmm. You were wondering when he’d start in on that particular point. It had been foolish to send Richard on, yes – but you’d thought that John and Tom were home! “But…”

A light knock precedes the slightly ajar door swinging wide to allow Tom reentrance, with John following close behind. “Still arguing?” Despite his efforts to sound cheery Tom sounds a little worn. With all the events of the day you can’t really blame him.

Richard answers for you while jumping up to allow Tom to reclaim the chair that sits closest to your bed. “Yes. Isn’t she always?”

While Tom stretches his legs out Richard hands off supervisory duty to John, muttering something about updating Mark, finding some decent coffee in this maze of a building. He has hardly finished speaking before slipping out the door. 

“Not always…” You reach over to touch Tom’s shoulder as a way to reestablish connection as he shifts, still trying to settle himself in the chair. “And I’m only arguing now because it isn’t necessary.”

Even Tom isn’t on your side on this. “Darling, you staying the night to let the good doctors do their job is _very_ necessary.”

 “What about you?” You look from Tom to John, who is pulling the privacy curtain partially closed. John then settles in the chair by the door, content to giving the pair of you perceived privacy while still being on hand if either of you need him. John had been giving Tom clear, calm instruction until the paramedics had arrived. Couldn’t John be trusted with monitoring your supposed concussion at home?

Tom uses his good hand to catch yours from his shoulder and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I’ll stay as long as they let me. I’m not the one that hit their head, though.”

That really wasn’t the answer you were looking for. You try to shift so you’re resting more on your side but your arm immediately protests the change in position. Frustrated, you fully sit up in the bed, “Fuck. Ok this isn’t working with you in that chair.”

“We won’t both fit on that bed.”

You shake your head, determined. “Yes we will. What if – John?” You can see his form stir on the other side of the semi-opaque curtain, “Can you help Tom put the railing down?”

John shifts the curtain open, a small smile cracking his drained look. “What might the doctors say, finding the pair of you in bed together?”

“Oh look. How sweet. Cute couple.”

As the handrail clangs down John shakes his head, “… No, they’d scold me for allowing it and then remind you that the both of you have been through a lot tonight and then probably send Tom and me home.”

“And then you’ll smuggle me out of here and…”

 John grunts, pulling Tom’s vacated chair away from the bed with him when he returns to his seat by the door. Though mumbled, you just make out his retort. “I’ll tell them that’s a yes to the concussion and a longer stay is required.”

It takes a bit of shifting to manage, but both you and Tom finally end up resting comfortably on the bed. You don’t immediately pick up the dropped thread of conversation – content instead to listen to Tom’s steady breathing. The quiet is nice, so welcome after the flurry of activity. It extends, but that is dangerous. Now that the adrenaline of the moment is gone your body wants to rest. Tom taps his fingers lightly over your stomach, also voicing a gentle reminder. “They said not to fall asleep.”

You keep one ear pressed to his chest as you reply, “They _said_ to have someone periodically check on me. Which is what you’re doing. Which is what you would do if they’d let us go home.” You amend your statement with a sigh, “… me go home….”

But everyone has made it abundantly clear that arguing that point is useless. Another few minutes of silence pass. You while away the time by lightly tracing your fingertips over Tom’s arm, hesitating just before the bandages on his hand, then drifting them back up towards his elbow again. Unlike with your proclivity to pick at your own bandage, you never quite touch the bandage on Tom’s hand, no matter how many times your fingers draw close. 

“Tom?”

“Hmmm?” He sounds like he had almost drifted off that time.

“I’m sorry, but what the hell is the point of having a code word if you’re going to run _towards_ the danger?”

Tom leans his head down and rests his chin on the crown of your head. “You expected me to stand idly by? The moment I heard you scream nothing mattered but getting to you.” A beat passes and he laughs, “Errr incidentally… I’m afraid the sauce from the ribs will have thoroughly soaked into the carpet by now.”

“Hmmm.” Your non-committal response vibrates within your throat. There will be a lot of cleanup needed – once you’re able to stomach standing in the kitchen again – and you _will_ continue to live there, at least until your lease runs out. As sure as there will be those that recommend that you move somewhere more secure, there will be others that will judge you if you abandon the dwelling.  Besides, Tom will finish filming in California and be on the move again, as will you.

Oh God if something had happened to him today – worse than a cut to the hand. The thought renders you unable to breathe for a moment. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. You don’t dare sit up and turn to get a better look at his face. You keep still, listening to Tom’s heartbeat and the interesting way his voice echoes within his chest when he speaks.

“What?”

He heard you well enough. You’re not all that interested in seeing how John is reacting to what you’re saying, either, so you frown at the wall. “If I hadn’t sent Richard away…”

“Don’t. Don’t do that. Choices were made. Things happened. You’re going to get a clean bill of health tomorrow and we’ll sport nearly matching bandages for a bit. We’re ok.”

What must it be like in that determinedly optimistic brain of his? You don’t voice further argument against his words but the thoughts continue to cycle internally. The danger you had subjected him to – _not okay_ – the emotional and physical pain you’ve caused Tom since meeting him – _not okay._

Just maybe, with your continued insistence that all is fine and his that everything is ok, maybe one day it will be true. 


	54. Chapter 54

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Both you and Tom need stitches stemming from the run in with your stalker - and because your head met with the unyielding cabinetry in your kitchen, the doctors insisted you stay at the hospital overnight. The morning holds the promise of release. Hopefully the whole mess can be put behind you now._

Tom’s presence in the hospital bed with you nets a few looks from those periodically popping into the room through the night, but bless them nobody orders him out, or home. How many, you wonder, are just there to sneak a peek at the beautiful man resting in the bed alongside you?

At some point, between the softly spoken disturbances John or Richard, you’re not sure which as someone had always been seated in the chair by the door – finds time to retrieve fresh sets of clothing for everyone. As depleted as you are from the surge of adrenaline associated with the confrontation with Mitch and everything thereafter it is amazing they found the energy to run the errand.

A light drizzle does nothing to thin out the crowd waiting to document your release from the hospital in the morning. There must have been some sort of very clear instruction given that the sidewalk before the hospital was _off limits_ \- the entire group waits just beyond the curb wielding cameras and other various recording devices.

There are too many shouted questions to keep track of so you don’t even try. You focus on the waiting car and the door to the backseat that John paused to open before jogging around the rear of the vehicle. Richard stands, keeping a wary eye on the crowd as you stoop through the opening and slide across the backseat. Tom has one leg in the car when something said freezes him midaction. There’s a split second pause before Tom seats himself and turns to look at the crowd, his eyes burning.

“What? Tom?” As much as you want to turn to try to spot what exactly has him so affected, you keep your back to the onlookers in favor of searching his face. What had been shouted?

Richard closes the door behind Tom before turning to the gathered mass. You see him clench his fist once before he reaches up beyond the sightline offered by the passenger’s side window. You hear the light thump of his hand meeting with the metal hood of the car. “Tom and ______ appreciate your _concern_ for their wellbeing. We’re happyto confirm that everyone is ok. Thank you so much for coming out to show them your _support_.” He snorts as he claims his seat up front.

You lean forward as far as the seatbelt allows as John puts the car into gear since Tom is still mutely glaring at the crowd and offering no answers. “What was that about?”

“Sometimes I really just _love_ this town...” Richard mutters under his breath.

That answer doesn’t help by much to clue you in to what had prompted the irritated reactions from both men. When Tom reaches up to pat Richard on the shoulder you plop back in your seat again. With the growing distance between the crowd and the car Tom is able to shake the dagger-glare from his face. “Yea…. Thanks, Richard.” He glances from Richard to notice your frustrated frown and shakes his head, “They said something about my ability to protect you. Using a word I’d rather not repeat to describe me.”

You stare at Tom long enough to process what he said and take a breath before commenting. “John, turn around.”

“What? No.” John replies.

Richard chimes in with his unasked for response as well. “No. _____, we’re going home.” Then snorts, “Again with the arguing. Always with the arguing….”

Well that’s the vote from the front seat. You lean forward until the seatbelt stops you again and repeat yourself, “John. Turn. Around.”

Tom is trying to talk you down though just moments prior it had seemed like he’d have liked nothing more than to get back out of the car and exchange words with the person who’d barked the insulting comment – whatever it had been. “They were just words, darling. Let’s go home. Remember how much you wanted to go home last night?” Yes, of course you do. You narrow your eyes at him but he deflects your glare with ease.

Smudges of crime scene powder still mar the inside of the doorframe, though it is clear someone has been through the place trying to clean up in preparation for your arrival. Furniture has been rearranged to ease cleanup. You’d half expected the takeout cartons and food within to still be splattered across the floor. Someone has been hard at work on the carpet, though the stain of red sauce from the ribs is still visible – or perhaps that’s a phantom stain that your brain is forcing.

You pause to examine the spot further and your eyes start to water. It would be foolish to attribute it solely to the smell the solvent lingering in the air. No, this is still anger, fear, among a mixture of other things, over the whole scenario. Someone had been stalking you. Someone had violated the place you had come to call home.

Your nose burns a bit. The fumes are rather strong – had John or Richard managed to find time to spray the area before heading to the hospital, or perhaps hired a cleaner, or – Bruce steps from the kitchen holding a scrub brush and wearing the apron that Matt had given you for your birthday reading – _It’s not burnt, it’s crispy!_ – Matt’s idea of a joke. No wonder John and Richard hadn’t immediately scoured the place or forced you and Tom to remain outside while inspecting the house. 

“You know,” he says, holding the brush to the side and giving everyone a wide grin, “when I was hired as a bodyguard I don’t remember anything in the contract about being a housekeeper.”

You turn to check Tom’s face, or John, or Richard. Nobody seems surprised by Bruce’s presence. “Bruce! I thought you’d be back in the UK by now?”

Richard walks past you to squat down and prod the carpet that you’d been standing over, examining Bruce’s handiwork. Bruce returns your question with a small shrug and a twirl of the scrub brush, small flecks of liquid spinning from the bristles. He blinks and hides the thing behind his back sheepishly while also looking to see where the dots of solvent had landed, “No. Nothing pressing that couldn’t wait a bit longer.”

He gives you a short nod before disappearing into the kitchen. You hear the thunk of the brush landing in the sink as he moves about. You’re not quite ready to step into that room, yet, so you stay firmly rooted to the spot in the main room.

It’s Richard who continues with the explanation, standing from where he’d stooped down and wiping his hands on the back of his jeans. “We took a vote. Decided three sets of eyes were better than two. And three sets of hands would make for faster cleanup.”

“Yea. Except it’s just been one set.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Don’t you mean five? You’ve got Tom and me to….”

Nearly everyone is shaking their head at you, save for Tom who is still standing behind you so you can’t see his reaction. “No.” “Nope.” Even Bruce reappears in the kitchen doorway, trying to untie the apron while shaking his head in the negative.

Richard points to the loveseat as if commanding you to sit. “We’ll handle the cleanup. You and Tom – sit. Rest… supervise if you feel the need, but absolutely _no_ scrubbing. I’m not calling the doctors to tell them you popped a stitch or got bleach into your sutures.”

“I was cleared for work. We both were!” You protest, not moving towards the loveseat as instructed. You half expect Tom to chime in too, but he’s busy trying to dig into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Your barely formed argument with the three bodyguards falls aside as you watch him wince through pulling his phone free of his slacks. Is he in pain? Had he turned his hand in the wrong way? A fresh wave of guilt washes over you.

Tom bobbles his phone over into his uninjured hand – something he should have done to start. The amusement in his expression helps to lessen your worry. “Darling, if you’re feeling so inclined we’ll see what we can tackle, hamstrung as we are, after they leave tonight.” Any further commentary is cut off when he examines the caller ID and his eyebrows arch dramatically. “It’s Mum. Amazed she’s still awake… but when she worries…” Rather than try for further explanation he answers the call. “Hullo Mum. We’re home….”

Hmm speaking of calling family, you owe your parents a phone call or five. You’d called and talked to them yesterday via the phone in your room in the hospital, but you should probably give everybody updates – unless Richard, or John, or Bruce had already done that?

“Richard?”

Richard and John have taken advantage of your momentary distraction and advanced from the main room into the kitchen. Richard pauses his analysis of the grout work to shake his head, “Still arguing?”

 You step up to the doorway of the kitchen to watch the three men examining the stains that Bruce has been working on, but proceed no farther. “No… well yes, but no. Have you talked to my parents today?”

Tom’s conversation fades, his assurances to his mother becoming muted to your ears. You turn to see him ducking down the hallway to continue the call in the bedroom, leaving you to resume your battle against the three men determined to make you sit and be useless in your own home.

Even standing in the other room and looking into the kitchen you still feel a creeping nausea. Having the three bodyguards focusing on the stains just draws your attention to the mess. Even if you triumph in your insistence that you get to help you may just focus your attention on whatever mess had been made elsewhere in the house.

You don’t hear Richard’s response to your query, as something else has now occurred to you, “Oh. Oh.” You turn to look towards the bedroom where you can still make out Tom’s conversation, “Mitch said something about Tom’s… things….”

John is nodding, slowly, when you turn back to look into the kitchen. “Y-es. He’d smashed a few things and then thrown the rest out the bedroom window into the drive below.”

Shame the bedroom window didn’t face the courtyard instead. Hopefully there hadn’t been any traffic and most of Tom’s possessions were still salvageable – and retrieved before the rain had started to fall overnight. You don’t hear the dryer running… at least Tom’s things had all been put away in drawers and in the closet. How much could Mitch have thrown out the window?

“I – well – Tom will find it, probably – but you might need to take him shopping again, ______.” Bruce leans back against the kitchen counter, folding his arms across his body, the action causing him to tuck the scrub brush beneath one bicep.

Oh no. What of Tom’s had been destroyed? You’re not left to wonder very long. Tom comes back down the hallway carrying a baggie. You recognize the shape of the thing within the plastic instantly – the bottle of cologne you’d gotten for him during your most recent visit to London. You reach out to touch the bag, then Tom’s arm once he’s close enough.

Tom twitches his mouth to one side, “I was sitting there on the end of the bed reassuring her that we were well looked after, nothing damaged beyond repair, and then smelled it.” It isn’t as though Tom wears cologne all that often, anyway, usually just for special events. It’s sweet that he’d brought it with him along with his few other favorite items from his wardrobe.

You notice a sticky note slightly crumpled in Tom’s other hand and peek at the writing on it: _Sorry, mate._ Bruce had tried to contain the mess but hadn’t thrown the bottle away, knowing its significance. Your eyes threaten to prickle with tears but you do your best to blink them away. After everything that Mitch has done, this has to be the end of it. You can’t continue to let that man sully things in your life.

You aim for a supportive smile, something made all the more easier with the way Tom looks at you. Yes, the now three bodyguards certainly help, but even if it is just Tom standing there beside you, you feel safe when you’re near him. “Next time we visit your mother I’ll get you another bottle.... or a different something, if you want." 

"No," Tom says as he settles his stance to put himself so he is more eye level with you, "Another of the same is fine. It's the one I associate with you."


	55. Chapter 55

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You want to get back to business as usual. It’s bad enough that both you and Tom received injuries from the confrontation with your stalker. The way everyone keeps treating you, always asking if you’re ok — it makes it ten times harder to move past the memories._

You’re in the kitchen watching the three amigos argue over how exactly to dismantle the kitchen tile so they can redo the grout. Richard, John, and Bruce had spent the rest of the day yesterday trying every solution they could think of to try to get the kitchen clean again – solvent, scrub brushes, and elbow grease. That failing, it had been a unanimous decision that the grout work needed to be gutted and replaced. Your vote (to keep with the scrub brushes and maybe try bleach) had been tossed out as an outlier. Forget being able to go shopping with them to help make decisions in the kitchen remodel – that had been voted down as well.

Their assurances that it wasn’t a true remodel didn’t do anything to soothe your irritation. Your space, your call – which is why you’d planted yourself in a kitchen chair to supervise as they _carefully_ hammered at the stained grout and jimmied the tile up from the affected area. It’s been less than 24 hours and it is already painfully clear that regularly having five people in the smaller space that is your place is going to be a challenge.

The three men are determined to pester, though the word they choose is _protect_ , you and Tom to the best of their abilities. It remains to be seen, after this day of rest for you and Tom, how well they can pull off that mission. Will they alternate who gets double detail? Perhaps they will end up rotating which of the three of them travels with Tom, versus you, to save from the boredom of doing the same thing over and over again each day.

Currently Tom is lounging on the sofa in the main room, content to letting the men work unsupervised and also not wanting to add to the already cramped conditions in the kitchen. You had been sitting with him in the main room until John and Bruce had returned from their shopping trip. Tom’s eyebrows had synched up slightly when you ground your teeth and followed Bruce, John, and Richard into the kitchen. You’d discussed it with him while lying in bed the previous night – he knows how ill being in the kitchen makes you feel. There’s no way to change that without exposure, though.

Even taking that into consideration, you have to get up and leave the room a few times. The guys have given up on asking if you’re ok – only Tom can ask without being on the receiving end of an annoyed expression.

You’re _fine._

Well, you’re not fine. But you’re certainly tired of them asking.

After breaking for lunch you feel free to spread your busy work out over the kitchen table. Tom has staked out the sofa and coffee table and you need the large surface area – the idea being that the more busy work you have to distract you, the less you’ll occupy yourself with the memories concerning the room you’re in.

When the doorbell rings, you’re not entirely sure you heard it. Everyone else is still occupied with their respective projects. It might have been someone’s phone, or an imagined noise. “Was that the door?”

Richard is up and brushing his hand of powdered grout at the sound of the second buzz. “Got it. Stay put.”

You don’t listen, following him out of the kitchen to find out who is at the door. Who is coming to visit? Matt and Andrew should be working – Ben is out of town, on to the next project – Who else could it be? Mark, making a house call?

Peering around Richard as he opens the door, your jaw drops. “Dad? What the….”

“Surprise honey!”

“Sir.” Tom, you realize, is up off the sofa and standing just off your shoulder. He reaches around you to proffer his uninjured hand to your father and it dawns on you - this is the first time Tom has met any of your family. Wonderful conditions, this.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” You should probably be feeling more excited to see your father after so many months of phone calls, but his unannounced arrival has you thrown.

He hasn’t turned back to you yet, still focusing on Tom. “Thanks for calling.”

_Tom_ had invited your father? And without clearing it with Richard, John, or Bruce, judging from their reactions. What was the man thinking? You arch an eyebrow at Tom’s profile. Your father had been trying to talk you into abandoning your career and moving back home! You leave them to greet each other in the hallway. It’ll be an interesting conversation, once your father turns his attention back to you.

“Honey? Don’t I get a hug hello?” You aren’t able to escape his attention for very long. You accept the big bear hug quietly. It’s been awhile since you were last able to see your father. And then his attention is pulled away again by the ongoing project in the kitchen, the builder in him momentarily winning out. He’ll probably have some pointers for the guys before he leaves. “Er wow is this all from… no I can see you’ve been... No I’ll get to that. Honey…” He finally turns to you and you feel yourself start to throw up walls to defend against him. “Will you come back home now? Please.”

You shake your head. You had this conversation with him after breaking up with Tom, his gentle words against your heartbroken sobs – then again as you told him about the continued flowers and notes that were setting you on edge. He wants to protect his baby girl – that’s understandable – but damnit, this is your life, your choice. “No. Dad, we talked about this.”

Your father nods, acknowledging the truth of your statement. He knows you’ve dug in your heels on the subject but that doesn’t stop him from repeating his opinions on the matter. “_______, the lunatic came after you. At least consider…”

“I _know_ he did. I have the bandage on my arm to prove it, just in case the memories temporarily escape me.” Sassing your father is never a wise course of action, and yet, somehow your frustration usually slips out in the form of sarcasm. You sigh, “Look. I’m fine.” There’s that word again, the one you always fall back upon regardless of your _actual_ condition. “And Bruce and John are here, too, to tag team with Richard while Tom is here.” Everyone looks positively thrilled that you’re bringing them into the discussion. “If you want to argue with someone about my job, why don’t you call and talk to Mark?”

Your father nods, “Oh I’ve already given him a piece of my mind.”

What. You resist the urge to face-palm. You exhale slowly, trying to redirect. The kitchen. He’s already nearly gotten sucked into that once. That will be distraction enough. You nod your head towards the mess the triplets have made, not really waiting for an answer before standing. “How about, instead of arguing, you take a look at what they’ve done and we just enjoy your … daytrip?”

Your ill-concealed attempt at asking exactly how long he would be staying gets you a chuckle from your father. He gets the point though – you’re not doing what he wants and abandoning your career over this. “I took a few days. Perks of owning your own company is that you can decide to take days off when you deem it necessary. Just told them I was going to visit my daughter and not burn the place to the ground while I was gone. Booked a hotel nearby. Mark assures me it _isn’t_ the one you were staying in, before.”

He took a few days? Oh hell. You try not to let your jaw drop open, “Dad… Today – being home was a fluke. I’ll be working…” You ignore Richard’s expression in reaction to that comment. Yes, the production wanted you to take a few days, possibly even see a therapist after this incident – but you’re determined not to let any of this crap slow you down.

“Working?! Honey…”

Great. Now everyone is giving you the same exasperated look. Why do they find it so difficult to understand that you don’t want to – no, that isn’t quite accurate – _can’t_ … can’t sit still right now? Sitting still means having time to think about everything that has happened in the past few days and that stresses you out. Working? Working provides a distraction.

Your dad ends up making a list – a long list – of tips for the boys. Slowly, much to your amusement, he takes control of the project. By dinner he has commandeered the not-a-remodel remodel, even going so far as to promise that he can have it finished by the end of the short time period during which he’ll ‘be around’. You resist pointing out that he had claimed he was taking a vacation. At least it keeps him from arguing with you further about your career.

Tom shifts on the sofa to make room for you after you meet your quota for how long you can remain in the kitchen. Short spurts for now. You’ll be able to feel at ease in there again, eventually. The added noise of debate between bouts of hammering at the grout was also part of your motivation for leaving the kitchen in favor of rejoining Tom in the living room.

By the end of the day you are convinced. There are far too many people milling about your home right now. What happened to just being able to enjoy quiet moments with Tom?

Who has apparently made plans to stay home for the next few days. Considering he is behind your father’s sudden appearance, you find his decision a little suspect.

You don’t bring it up until it is just the pair of you, the others gone for the night. “So are you going to explain?”

Tom is stooped at the coffee table, trying to straighten up the mess of papers. He makes a non-committal noise. “Mmm?” In your silence he looks up to find you knitting your eyebrows together slightly into a semi-frown. “What?”

He gives you his best innocent expression, abandoning the cleanup project he’d undertaken. You give him one that says: _cut the shit, Hiddleston_ , in return. “You called Dad?”

“Offered to, since Richard was on with your mother.” He swivels in his spot next to the coffee table.

You shake your head, still marveling about your father’s appearance when Richard opened the door this afternoon. Of all the people you were expecting to be on the other side of the door, your father hadn’t made the list. What did that say about you, that you didn’t count your immediate family as likely to visit? You’ll mull that over as you listen to Tom’s rhythmic breathing as you try to fall asleep tonight. “And invited him here.”

He nods, moving to catch you where you were trying to skirt past him and down the hall towards the bedroom. “Yes. For more reasons than one. He’s worried. I’m worried. Nobody expects you to be back at work tomorrow. They’ll probably send you home if you show up.”

“I’m still going to try to go in.” You frown, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin shirt he’s wearing as you press your palms against his chest. “I don’t like sitting around doing nothing. I feel useless.”

This prompts Tom to grin and readjust how he’s holding you in his arms, “Nothing? I’ll be home, too, remember.”

“Oh you can wipe those types of thoughts for tomorrow right out of your mind. You’ll be home, and so will the guys - and my _father_.” Excellent planner, this man you hold so dear. It’s nice that he’s trying to be playful to keep you from fully allowing the tension to take hold over you, even if you can see right through the ploy.

Again with that faux-innocent expression. “Thoughts? Who is having thoughts? I was just pointing out facts.”

You roll your eyes at him, unsuccessfully biting back a smile. “Facts. Alright, fine. It’s a _fact_ that he’s going to be watching you like a hawk the entire time he’s here – and calculating the _exact_ distance between us at all times... Excellent start, by the way, immediately introducing yourself.”  

Really should be giving him a bit more credit… Tom is no fool – and he’s heard so many of the stories relaying your interactions with your father while you were growing up. Ok, so your father is here. Worse things have happened. At least he’s not having to visit you in the hospital – you’re not having to see him look down upon you with pity and fear, all the while unable to get up and escape the expression.

Yes, worse things have happened.

And rather than focus on the bad things that actually did happen to you lately you silently slip from Tom’s arms, making sure that he follows when you head towards the bedroom. You’ve gotten used to sleeping next to him - the feeling of his weight in the bed with you, the warmth he radiates, and the occasional murmuring in his sleep.

So yes, worse things have happened. And you’re determined not to focus on them right now.


	56. Chapter 56

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Tom has enlisted your father to help talk some sense into you. They want you to take the few days off that the studio is recommending. And do what? Allow for more time to feel discomfort in your own home? No thank you. The more distraction the better._

So Tom's first conversation with your father was regarding your stalker. Well - you don't actually know that to be true. It's just an assumption based on the fact that it is the first time he's admitted to talking to your father. And that means... what. It means that … it means that there is hope that their relationship didn’t start out on a sour note. It means that, despite the wounds delivered by Mitch, life will go on. You have Tom. You have your career. You have friends and family. You have the image of Mitch lunging at you with that horrible sneer on his face.

You flex the arches of your feet as you stare up at the muted grey tones of the ceiling. The shadows in the corner keep taking shapes, materializing into the hulking residual form of Mitch. Refocusing again on Tom’s breathing is the only way to try to banish the other thoughts from your head. It is how you managed to quiet your mind enough to attempt sleep, the steady assurance that came with each of his deep exhales – only to be greeted by dreams of being pursued by shadows.

All your fidgeting threatens to rouse Tom. When he stirs in the bed beside you, you force your body to be still. It's early, so very early that it feels like you just fell asleep. Perhaps you should get up and go into the other room, let the beautiful man sleep, possibly find some comfort in a well-lit room... You just can't find the motivation to leave his side - or the warmth of the bed.

He doesn't have you anchored to the spot anymore, not since he rolled over about an hour ago. The action had removed his hand from your abdomen as well as pulled the sheet partially from your body. You finger the stitching at the edge of the sheet, counting out the miniscule ridges dotting the fabric. Worrying at the hem is far better than messing with the bandage over your arm.

“Is it morning already?” You feel the light brush of his lips to your shoulder followed by a short exhalation. In the darkness you feel the bed shift and turn to watch him stretch, trying to fight the lull of sleep wanting to pull him under again. “Did you sleep at all, darling?”

His questions are dulled by exhaustion, prompting a pang of guilt from you. You should have gone into the other room and let him rest. When you sit up one of his hands finds the base of your back and snakes up under your shirt, following your spine up before traveling back down in a slow retracing of the path. You resist leaning over to splay yourself across his midsection, instead letting a beat or two pass before responding, “Enough… I’m fine.”

Tom pauses the slow backrub, snaking his arm down to grasp right at your hip. “I wish you’d stop saying that. You can’t be fine. None of us are fine. I’m certainly not fine, and I’m not the one Mitch was after.”

Oh, but he was.

You close your eyes to fight against the memory conjured, as much good as it does. The scene plays across the backs of your eyelids – Mitch slashing through the air with the sharp shards of broken wine bottle – the look on Mitch’s face when the front door had opened and Tom’s laugh had announced his arrival home…  You press your hands to your face, trying to keep from losing all composure. The harder you try to clamp down on the feelings the stronger they seem to get. Your palms are damp, partially a clammy sweat, partially tears determined to escape.

Tom is sitting up now, too, his arms circling around you and pulling you so that you are shuddering against his chest. “I hear the crash coming from the kitchen on a loop in my head. And I hear your scream… and running to find…”

“Oh God, Tom. Stop. Please stop. Stop talking.” You’re barely able to gasp out the plea.

Gingerly he shifts to pull you almost into his lap, careful to avoid the more tender areas of your body. “Ok. Ok. Breathe with me.” Together, nestled in an awkward cocoon in the middle of the bed, his occasionaly whispered instruction - _in... out.. -_ you fight off your panic attack and prepare for the coming day.

Your head is still tender from where it came into contact with the kitchen counter – and the bruises… Well, it’s a good thing the weather has turned and it makes sense to wear long sleeves. Long sleeves also help to keep the bandage on your forearm hidden. If you manage to somehow ignore the protestations of your body you can almost feel normal.

Having your father around proves – interesting. He arrives with Richard first thing in the morning, ensuring that he is there well before you might try to leave for work. The pair of them arrive even before John and Bruce have made it over. Richard is loaded down with the usual drink orders. Your father has two things in his hands: pages baring sketches that look suspiciously like the kitchen of your place, and a bag that bulges and smells of cinnamon.

Richard shrugs in response to your questioning look. “I was just getting the usual and he said…”

“It wouldn’t be breakfast on a Friday without cinnamon rolls. Not homemade but they’ll do.”

Oh. His penchant for the sticky-sweet breakfast food as a coping mechanism. Right. Fell down on the playground? French toast for breakfast the next morning. Fight with your best friend? Crepes. And being lulled into a trance while watching him cook – listening to crooned oldies, so long as he remembered the words.

The memories bring out a much needed smile from you.

And now he’s here, standing in your living room. You’d given Tom a hard time about it last night but really, if he wanted to help cheer you, he couldn’t have done better.

Your father. Here. Holding sweets. It’s your turn to be the instigator of the bear-hug-of-greeting. The paper bag in his hands crinkles as he returns the show of affection.

“How’s the arm, honey?”

The warmth of happy memories starts to fade. He couldn’t help but ask, could he... You want to move _on_ – not continually be reminded of recent events. You pull back from the hug, trying to maintain your smile and suppress the sudden urge to step away and press your fingertips of your opposing hand to the sleeve covering your wrapped forearm. “Fine.” Out of the corner of your eye you note Tom’s expression change and you mentally kick yourself. You really need to figure out another word to deflect everyone’s concern.

Your father keeps one arm slung loosely around you, holding out the bag of goodies for Tom to receive. “Loves that word. Doesn’t mean fine when she says it, though.”

“Not at all...”

Richard’s snorted comment nets him a glare from you. You step away from your father’s embrace to move towards Tom, who already has his hand in the brown paper bag. “Dad, do I want to know what more you have in mind for the kitchen?”

Your father looks down at the pages in his hand, then shakes his head. Your attempt at distraction fails. “Breakfast first. Then we’ll discuss the kitchen.” He pauses, glancing into the kitchen and finding it empty. “I got enough for everyone… Aren’t we missing a few?”

Richard consults his watch before replying, “They’ll be here soon.”

“More for us in the meantime.” Tom grins, offering the first cinnamon roll he’s pulled from the bag to you before retrieving one of his own. You ignore his lingering look in favor of taking a big bite from the cinnamon bun in your hand. 

Your father manages to enthrall all three members of the security team with the sketches he’d “tossed together” after getting back to his hotel room the night before. It’s a sight you almost want to snap a picture of as proof of the event: John, Bruce, and Richard all absolutely captivated by your father. You observe from the doorway, still not ready to remain in the room for extended periods of time. You’ll get there. Eventually.

Though he stays near you, leaning against the wall closest to the kitchen doorway, Tom is also ensnared by your father’s passion. The plan is to make all the necessary repairs while also updating the affected area of the kitchen just a bit. _Just a bit,_  and yet it sounds a little more like a major undertaking. Hearing your father’s voice resonate in the kitchen draws out memories of when you were growing up – listening to him excitedly relay to the family how the day’s project had gone, or how he’d won the bid for the next big building that was to go up downtown.

You give them till you’re finished with your coffee – a lovely holiday blend that perfectly compliments the cinnamon rolls – before interrupting, nodding to Richard before tilting your head towards the door. “Ready when you are.”

Tom remains silent, already having voiced his protestations and dealt with the consequences. Richard merely sighs and stands. To your surprise your father passes off the sketches of the kitchen to Bruce and John, a clear indication he intends on joining you.

“Aren’t you going to stay and guide the continued demolition?” Your polite way of telling him to stay here, stay distracted…

“Richard assured me on the way in that it’s going to be a short trip to the studio. They won’t get too far before we’ll be back. Don’t you want to show me around, honey?”

He’s had far too much experience battling your stubborn nature and knows just how to phrase things so you can’t say no. Besides, showing him around means everyone will see you on the lot and realize that you’re ready for work. Maybe, despite their reservations, they’ll see reason and let you bypass the forced days off.

You wait for your father and Richard to exit the kitchen and turn to follow them with Tom right on your heels. “What – are we all going?”

“We’re staying put.” Bruce offers up his response from his seat at the kitchen table, tapping your father’s sketches on the table to redouble his sound off.

Fine. That’s two out of the seemingly ever growing gaggle of testosterone that surrounds you these days.

In the backseat of the car Tom reengages your father on the subject of his work, leaving you to contemplate the situation while the four of you are in transit. At least they seem to be getting along – not that you were expecting them to argue – but it comes as a relief all the same. Tom is making the best of the circumstance but this is a far cry from the visit wherein you met Diana.

If you’d had your way your father would be the one sitting up front but the suggestion was met with more hemming by the three of them. There’s only a slight delay in driving through the gates to allow access to the lot – protestations over your appearance when everyone expected you to stay home.

All three of your companions give you the same exact look after the car is parked: _Told you so._

Despite the guest pass around his neck and arrival with three familiar faces the inner building security team ignores your barely begun greeting in favor of swarming your father. Cue maximum embarrassment, and a flare of your temper. “Really guys? He looks that threatening to you? Walking in with us and standing right next to Richard with a fucking pass around his neck?? He’s my _father!_ ”

Your father pauses his chat with the security guard examining the temporary pass to frown at you. “Language, ______. Still working on that I see.”

Your father’s response only amplifies your annoyance. He doesn’t seem a bit bothered by the close scrutiny and prodding, or have any qualms with scolding you in public. Security passed, you continue to lead the way towards the dressing rooms. You try to keep quiet, keep from arguing further with him, but he seems determined to keep pressing at sore spots.

“Honey, cussing yourself blue in the face won’t solve any problems.”

You feel Tom’s soft touch on the middle of your back, fingers resting lightly right between your shoulders. He’s trying to signal you, trying to stall out the argument without inserting himself into the middle of it. He’s right, this isn’t the time or the place but you can’t reign yourself back in quite yet. “Never seemed to stop you.”

“We’re not talking about me. I didn’t choose a profession that put me so squarely in the public eye.”

He just keeps harping on that. You enjoy acting. If you’d wanted to follow in his footsteps you would have. “You work with the public all the time.”

“Not in the same way.”

Alright. Yes. He’s right. Being a contractor isn’t the same as acting. You still _both_ have you be aware of how you present yourself to the public but… 

Enough. Enough of this. You need to be enjoying this time spent with your father, not wasting it arguing with him. Exhaling, you give your shoulders a shake, sending Tom’s hand tumbling from the spot where he’d tried to anchor it between your shoulders. Severing contact with him hadn’t been the intention. You’d just wanted to shake yourself out of the argumentative mood. You shift to settle next to him, then run your hand down his arm and slip your hand over his. Tom waits for you to lace your fingers between his before giving your hand a light squeeze.

Rather than continue to work on fortifying the trench you’re trying to establish between you and your father, you force a smile. “Ok – so do you want to see my dressing room or see if we can’t find Matt and Andrew wandering around here somewhere…” 


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your determination to will yourself through this emotional rough patch works most days - and when it doesn't well... it doesn't. Not surprisingly, Tom's calming nature helps battle back the overwhelming panic when you can't do it alone._

They seem to be getting on well enough so you step away to try to talk your way back onto set this weekend and leave Tom alone in your dressing room with your father. They’re talking about the niche of set design and how your father used to dabble back when you were in high school. It shouldn’t take too long to talk your way back onto the schedule. You just need to find someone with the power to make that call… Working today is a bust. There’s no hope even trying to manage that miracle.

After being scolded for showing up today – it seems no one fell for the ‘showing Dad around’ ruse – you receive the bad news. Well, it’s bad news in your mind, anyway. They’ve already figured out the first half of the following work week in terms of shooting schedule. Even considering that, you hold out hope that there will be some magical sequence of words that will make everything start to go your way.

Despite your most persuasive arguments the answer is no.

No. Go home. Rest.

Richard is delighted. You’re silently cursing. They’re giving you what amounts to an entire week off. Period. Pending a sit-down with a therapist when, exactly, you’ll be allowed back is still up in the air. The studio is considering pushing back any scenes you may be involved in to give you ‘more time to cope’. You agree to set up an appointment to be immediately after your father leaves, hoping that with assurances from a professional the studio will allow you back without holding you to the full week of time away from the set.

You want to get back to work soonest, damnit.

Though internally you’re an absolute mess, you plaster on a smile and do your best to keep the tempest hidden. The smile does nothing to dispel the grouchy mood you’ve fallen into but you outwardly appear at ease. Richard talks amiably about coordinating your just-this-side-of-mandatory appointment with the rest of the crew currently hunkered down at your place. The tiny environment was not meant to house so many. Thankfully you and Tom do manage some breathing room every once in a while.

The attempt to talk your way back from your ‘break’ lasted longer than you anticipated it would thanks to your persistence. Oops. And Richard had promised your father a short trip to the lot. It’s nearly time for lunch.

You find Tom and your father still in your dressing room – and they now have moved on from shop talk, finding what common ground they may have in other areas of their lives. Your smile twitches in place. Poor Tom. You’ve inadvertently shoved your father off on him.

Richard takes advantage of the pause in motion to consult his phone. “If we’re doing dinner out tonight we should go ahead and make reservations.”

“Dinner out?” You’re hesitant of the concept. Why does it feel like it’s only you that is about to fall apart at the seams? But your father is here, and – “Well Dad, anything special you’d like to try while you’re here?”

“I’ve heard great things about this place we passed on the drive here. Supposedly the sauce is mouthwatering and the ribs melt right off the—“

Tom interrupts, making a face and massaging at his neck with his good hand, “Er, actually…” He bites at his cheek and looks up to meet your gaze. It feels like you’re smacked across the face with the wave of guilt you read in his expression.

Oh. The food that Tom had picked up for dinner that day. He’d gone to get ribs and hadn’t been there… and there goes your intention of suggesting take out. What is a solution that will work for all of you? “Maybe we can cook something?”

Richard snorts and looks up from his phone, “Kitchen is half destroyed.”

“Just need access to the oven… We can push the table out into the living room.” You’re not going to give up easily.

“And you’ll be making what, exactly?” Richard’s tone is lighthearted. He’s making fun of the fact that your cupboards, despite being better stocked as a direct result of having all the mouths to feed regularly, are currently in need of replenishment.

You maintain eye contact with Tom and shrug. _Suggest something, Thomas._

He fires back a thought filled expression of his own. _What the bloody hell does your father like to eat?_

“We’ll save eating out for the weekend, then. Plenty of time to figure out where to go that way. Which leaves my favorite things for today. Remodels, a home cooked meal, and my little girl.”

You roll your eyes, a gesture your father thankfully misses, and turn about to lead the way back out to the car. Bruce and John have made a deal of headway by the time you return. The affected area of grout and tile has been removed, as has the nearby baseboard – which exposed a surprising amount of grime that needed taking care of.

Keeping dinner in mind you snag hamburgers on the way home as something light for lunch. Your father eats his hamburger while distractedly scribbling notes on the sketches of your kitchen; more things to shop for to complete the job, more tinkering to be done.

Brainstorming with Tom in the living room provides a plan for dinner – something filling for all, easy to create (or at least creating minimal mess), and most importantly, voted as most likely to go over well with your father. Richard and Bruce are still in the kitchen debating who will claim the honor of laying most of tile versus the tedious task of re-grouting the section of floor.

It’s John that approaches your position at the coffee table, peering over Tom’s shoulder at the list you’ve been working on. “Alright. Let’s see it.”

You’ve only just put the pen down. You hesitate with your hand barely touching the page. “What?”

He holds out his hand, “Give me the list. I’ll be back with the produce before long.” While you hesitate further he looks between you and Tom, nodding. “It’ll free up time for prep work.”

A frown starts to press itself into view on your face. You’d planned on doing the shopping yourself. A quick run to the store? While you’re not _quite_ ready for the circus-act that eating out tomorrow night will surely become – something that smacks of normality, grocery shopping, now that’s manageable.

“I can do it.” You correct the statement nearly immediately to make sure your mood is known. “I _want_ to do it.”

Tom joins in, echoing you. “ _We_ want to do it.” To John’s look of consternation he continues, “We’ll be back in no time. Quick run right down the street.”

Tom going shopping with you? Well, that hadn’t been the plan, to start…. But – yes. Grocery shopping as a couple. Quiet. Normal. It’s something that the pair of you haven’t gotten to do since – perhaps as far back as your first visit to London.

John heaves out a breath, studying you for a moment since you’ve made no move to hand over the list. “And I suppose you’re both going to grow additional uninjured appendages in the meantime… You’ve got two good hands between the pair of you. Who is going to carry the bags?”

Ah. There is that.

John lets his little hint of a smile emerge before nodding to the page that still rests on the coffee table. “We’ll be needing another lot of eggs. Not enough on hand for the dish, I think.” He’s read the list upside down and can already guess as to the meal just from the items mentioned. Then he turns to inform the others of the short trip he, you, and Tom will be taking.

You hear Tom mutter quietly as John scoops up the car keys, “… always blessed with the presence of a chaperone…”

On the dried goods aisle Tom is humming along with the music flowing from the overhead speakers one moment, abruptly frozen to the spot the next after emitting a choking noise. You lift your attention from the back of the container of breadcrumbs to watch his shoulders shift as he forces his feet to uproot. “Tom?” Is he alright? Did he get a little too into the song and accidentally choke himself?

Tom is looking farther down the aisle, commenting with some urgency, “John….”

“Yup.” John’s hand is on your shoulder, steering you around to go back down the aisle the way you came – and quickly. “I see him. “

What? Someone with their phone out documenting the shopping trip? Paparazzi? What?

You keep trying to crane your head around as John quietly guides you on. Their manner has you curious, shaking, and _annoyed_. You’re picking up groceries for fuck’s sake.

Tom is close behind you, his face pale. What the hell?  What could shake Tom so thoroughly?

Just as John tries to push you around the corner of the end of the aisle you spot the reason for their reaction – the man down at the far end of the aisle, contemplating pasta. He is none the wiser to the little bit of drama going on at the opposite end of the aisle, focusing instead on the choice between angel-hair pasta and rigatoni. Even from this distance you can see the reason for Tom and John’s alarm. The man’s bulking form resembles that of the one that permeates your nightmares.

_Mitch._ But it isn’t Mitch. But it is.

Involuntarily you tighten your grip on the canister of breadcrumbs. It doesn’t do much to mask the sudden jitters that cause your hands to tremble.

Fuck.

Focus on something you _know._ Remember the breathing technique that you used with Tom.

It’s the middle of the day. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ You’re in a fluorescently lit grocers with Tom and John. _Breathe in. Breathe out._ Mitch is safely locked away.

Tom’s color is returning but he looks like he might want to throw up. You second that course of action. Time to go.

You lick your lips and try not to focus on the taste of bile in your mouth. “We have everything, then?” 


	58. Chapter 58

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How are you supposed to ‘recuperate’ during your ‘time off’ if everyone keeps treating you like you’re going to fall apart at any given moment? The forced leave works out, enabling you to spend more time with your father while he is visiting, but it gives you far too much time to dwell on everything that has happened. It’s normal to be jumpy after having an up close and personal confrontation with a stalker. Everyone is jumpy, not just you.. Their constant concern just makes you feel more vulnerable._

Two days. Two days of near constant hammering, the clipping of tiles with pieces shooting off in random directions in the kitchen and nearly taking out innocent bystanders [ _yet another reason to stay out of the kitchen, for the time being_ ] – and idle chatter regarding the kitchen ‘refresh’. It’s about two days past your limit for such things. Thankfully they appear to be nearing completion, following your father’s promise that all work would be done before he returned home. Soon your father will leave, both you and Tom will go back to work, and everything will finally settle once more.

 _After_ your not-mandatory-but-mandatory visit with a psychiatrist.

This morning the last of the tile was sealed into place. At the moment your father and John have ventured off to get the last few items needed for full-completion of the project. To your eye all it will take is a final coat of paint on the backsplash and your kitchen will look whole once more.

Mark refuses to budge on the temporary hiatus of all things related to work. No Touring Sundays sequel, no interviews, no photoshoots – he’s even put a stop on all fan mail – something ensured by Richard’s presence. Pure “you time”. None of them can stop you from going online, but after reading a few negative comments regarding the situation you decide against that method of distraction – and there’s only so many times you can review the few pages of scenes you have in your possession.

Through the open door to the bedroom you can hear Tom and Bruce in the living room, Tom pacing and rattling off lines while Bruce rattles pages, responding when needed. You feel a pang of guilt and head back out into the main room. Tom was staying here to be on hand if you needed him and you’re hiding away – trying to get your fix via secreted texts. At your request Matt and Andrew have been keeping you up-to-date with the goings on at the soundstage. The feed of information just magnifies your desire to be back and complete the trio.

Richard has stationed himself at the kitchen table. When you pass by the doorway he looks up from the paper. You’ll rejoin him when your father returns, but plan on staying out of the room until then. Instead you opt for peering over Bruce’s shoulder at the pages Tom is reviewing, following along and sometimes playing as an additional needed character in the scene. If only everyone understood how slipping into a character helps to relieve the steady tension you’ve felt ever since leaving the hospital. But you can see the validity of their viewpoint – hiding in a character just pushes the feelings aside, it doesn’t do a thing to heal. You try not to jump at unexpected motion in your peripheral vision, only sometimes succeeding.

When your father and John return from their shopping adventure Tom settles back into his seat to fill the margins of his pages with a few more notes. Rather than claim the seat next to him you follow your father into the kitchen, keen to see what the shopping bag in his hands holds. A can or two of paint and another can of sealant. They’re taking no chances with the walls, apparently.

“Worried that I didn’t match the color, honey? We took samples with us.” Your dad takes a sip from the drink in his hand as you examine the colors he purchased. “Surprised you didn’t keep the information on hand when you painted the place.”

You’d vowed, long ago, not to have a cabinet in the house that was filled with nearly empty paint cans as your father did. Half the time he never had any intention of ever using the particular paint color again. It had been a blessing when you needed something for an art project for a class but otherwise just seemed to take up storage space.

Besides, your mind had been elsewhere at the time, occupied with other concerns than retaining paint pallet or brand name – namely the struggle over doubts in your relationship with Tom.

“Benedict and I both suggested it but she wouldn’t hear it.” Richard sets the paper down, flattening it out to cover the tabletop. “Insisting on throwing out what little was left.”

You laugh, watching your father settle his drink on the counter and turn to look at the cabinet just at his shoulder. “Great color choices. Shame not to keep any of it. You didn’t just toss it in the trash though, right ______?”

As your father turns back to question you he drops his hand to the countertop, bumping his wrist right into his drink. The bottle sloshes, wobbles dangerously, and then topples. Your kitchen transforms before your eyes – the red fluid flowing from the open container to coat the countertop, drip down the cabinetry, and splash to the floor. Your breath hitches moments before every muscle in your body goes rigid.

Red.

The color and an overpoweringly fruity smell once again permeate your kitchen. 

You can hear _him,_ still – even see him standing there with that self-satisfied smile.

_Hello, ______._

Mitch’s voice rings in your ears, nearly drowning out the others in the room. You need to get out of the kitchen, but once again your feet feel leaden and hold you to the spot. You need to scream. You need to throw up. You need to breathe. You try to do all three at once and the room lurches.

“Hmm. Clumsy. Pass me the towels, John? There goes my drin--- Honey?” Your father’s voice seems distant, his form going out of focus.

Then he turns to face you fully and it isn’t your father anymore. Just like in your dreams – it is Mitch staring at you. Mitch calling your name.

This time you’re terrified he won’t merely graze your arm.

But no. He’s not here. _He’s not here._ Mitch is locked up. He can’t harm you. Your eyes continue to play tricks, but the vision is starting to waver. It _is_ your father. It is, but it isn’t. Mercifully your feet finally obey your desire to backpedal. You turn, fleeing the room to a chorus of shouts of concern.

“_______? What’s wrong ---” Bruce barely has time to look up as you dash past the loveseat.

“_______?” Tom is up on his feet, but you don’t pause.

You hear the scrape of the kitchen chairs being dragged across the floor, followed by footsteps. They’re all in pursuit. You don’t dare look back. The last thing you need is to see Mitch chasing you once more. You make it to the bedroom as your legs threaten to shake from beneath you.

Where are you going? You’ve cornered yourself. All that’s left is the bathroom – there’s water… and a toilet to throw up in… and…

“Honey?”

Your father has followed. Of course he followed. Worse, he’s already in the bedroom with you. You shake your head, afraid to turn to look at him. You need space. You need to regroup. You can’t do that if you’re afraid to open your eyes – afraid to look at him.

You don’t bother turning on the light in the bathroom, just make it onto the tile floor and spin to slam the door shut, pressing in the locking mechanism with a bit more force than necessary. The tiny room still smells overwhelmingly of Tom’s cologne. It’s a comfort – though a small one – that helps you to battle against your body’s determination to shut down.

The breathing technique you’ve adopted lately. It’ll work, if you can manage it.

Breathe in. Hold. Exhale.

You bend at the waist, holding your midsection as you gasp for air. The position, or perhaps out of exertion, or fear, prompts another wave of nausea to pass through you and you gag, dry heaving before settling back onto your haunches. You’d much rather be seated while your body goes completely berserk. Less likely to knock yourself out if you are already wedged into the corner of the room if and when you pass out.

An argument is gearing up on the opposite side of the door, periodically interrupted by knocking. “Honey?”

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

It’s your father’s hard rap of knuckle on wood.

Richard’s voice comes next. “Did you see her face?”

“Well – no. Sort of. What happened?” Bruce responds, his question murmured.

_Knock. Knock._

“He spilled his drink and she bolted.” John replies.

Bruce again. “What?”

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Honey?” Your father’s voice, louder than the rest.

Another wave of nausea passes through you. You sit there mutely shaking your head.

“_______?” Finally you hear Tom’s voice from among the others.

The next full thing you can make out is Richard scoffing, and you can almost visualize the glare accompanying the remark. “That’s a _red_ drink. No wonder—“

At the mention of the color a flash bomb of the brilliant shade goes off in your head. You try to cover your ears to block out their argument but you can still hear them.

“What?” Your father’s exclamation of surprise bursts through.

You can’t stop shaking. They’re certainly not making matters any better. You swallow and try to talk - it comes across in a whine instead of the shouted remark you were attempting. “Go away!”

“You were dealing with the stains, too. It was _red wine_.” Richard says, his voice wavering in anger.

Once again you see a flash of the color pass before your eyes. _Stop. Stop. Stop!_ Keeping your eyes closed is doing more harm than good. You blink them open, your vision quickly adjusting to the darkness of the room.

The knocking resumes after a brief pause. “Honey? Honey I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

You continue trying to control your breathing with little success.

[Bruce] “Damn.”

[Richard] “She’s locked herself in.”

[Dad] “Do we need to break it down?”

[Bruce] “The hell? No. Tom – isn’t there a key?”

“Yea. Yes. Yes, she showed me a key. Hang on… I’ll…” The one man you want on the other side of the door and he’s leaving it. No way you’re opening it for any of the others. Once you’re able to move.

[John] “We can’t all stand here all night.”

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Yes. Listen to John. _Go away._

Shadows move around, changing how the light shines from the crack under the door.

[Bruce] “Tom’ll get the key. We’ll coax her out.”

[John] “Yea… we’ll… we’ll go clean up that juice. Wouldn’t want it to stain what we’ve already finished.”

More murmuring in reply, though it is harder to make out Bruce’s comment. “Does cranberry juice stain?”

 They’re leaving. They’re going back to the kitchen.

[Richard] “I don’t know. You want to look it up online while it sits?”

[Bruce] “Oi. Shut it.”

Someone is still standing there, you can see the shadow.

_Knock. Knock._

“Honey…” Your father hasn’t given up yet.

“Found it.” Footfall accompanies Tom’s announcement.

 _No!_ Silently you plead with him. _Oh Tom, please don’t let them all barge into this tiny bathroom._ It’ll set off a fresh wave of panic and you’ve just about dry heaved yourself into exhaustion.

“….it to me. That’s my daughter in there.”

Thankfully, Tom seems to be gripped by the same line of thought. “Is that wise? From where I was sitting it looked like she was running from you.”

Your father harrumphs. “_______?”

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

“Sir.”

“It was just cranberry juice.”

“Sir, respectfully…”

Finally, there is silence and the shadows shift. Footsteps, indicating one of the last two people outside the door is leaving.

Then softly comes Tom’s voice. “Darling, it’s just me. They’ve gone back out into the main room. I’m going to unlock the door and come in. Ok?”

You’re nodding. Sitting there in the dark you’re nodding, unable to voice a reply. He can’t see you through the door, so your response is absurd, but it is all you can manage.

Bless him, he’s going to wait out there until he hears from you.

You finally choke out a meek, “Ok.”

A few seconds pass before the lock clicks and the door slowly swings open, throwing light into the dark room where you are huddled. He focuses on you for a moment before stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 


	59. Chapter 59

You sit onthe chilled tile flooring of the bathroom, wrapped up in Tom’s arms in thedarkness. He hadn’t turned the light on when he entered the bathroom - just fixed his attention on your form so he’d know where to find you after shutting the door - then quickly, quietly, shutting out the rest of the world. It’s just you and Tom, your panicked breathing in contrast to his steady rhythm. It’s impossible to truly judge time in this environment. The minutes are punctuated by waves of nausea that cause your stomach to clench, forcing you to pull yourself up and kneel towards the toilet bowl to battle against the urge to dry heave.

Only Tom’s light touch on your back lets you know he’s still there in the moments where it seems that it is just you and the porcelain. Tom is still there. He’s still with you. He doesn’t speak throughout. He holds you loosely, allowing motion when you need it, then cradling you back to his chest when you’re ready to settle again. The outside world continues on – time refusing to stop for your moment of crisis. The occasional shadow passes in the thin strip of light between the door and the floor. Those you have shut out are worried, yet no one knocks. They know better.

Once your breathing starts to normalize you unclench your fingers, finally accepting Tom’s offered hand. You trace your fingertips over his palm. You start where his hand meets his wrist, tracing circles over the meat of his palm at the base of his thumb. From there you find and follow his lifeline, abandoning it to trace his line of heart back towards the outside of his hand.

He waits until you slip your fingers between his to grasp at your hand and speak. “Do you want some water?”

His question is soft, uncertain. He’d get up and leave if you told him to, if you told him you needed time alone. It’s the last thing you want. You shake your head in the negative. He waits before asking something else, lifting your hand to press your knuckles against his lips. He lets you settle your intertwined hands into his lap once more. You feel his inhalation of breath before he speaks and brace for the question you know is coming.

“Do you – can you tell me what you saw? What made you run?”

If anybody else had asked you would have told them to fuck off. Tom, though? For Tom you’ll try… Even with your determination you still twitch in reaction to his request. He immediately moves his arm from where he had wrapped it around your shoulders, loosening his hold once more to make it easier for you to pull away if you need to. He doesn’t release your hand, though, that he keeps firmly gripped within his. You use it as your anchor as you force yourself to reply. “Dad turned into Mitch. It was stupid to run but,” a hiccough bubbles to the surface, “I just needed… I couldn’t….”

Tom readjusts how the pair of you are nestled together so his voice comes closer to your temple than before. “Flashback, again.”

“Yes.” Your voice sounds flat. As much as you hate to acknowledge it, you’re not ok. Everything that has happened is catching up to you. The studio was right to insist that you seek out a professional to help deal with it all. Tom, your family, the security team – everyone was right in their assessment of your mental health. You hiccough again and through the frustration, disappointment, and fear, you laugh at yourself. “Fuck!”

He has better sense than to suggest trying to scare the hiccoughs out of you. He is quiet, probably coming up with ten dozen replies and deciding against each and every one of them before finding something he deems worth muttering. “So – are we going back out there at some point?”

You’re trying to hold your breath and swallow away the hiccoughs, without much success. Your attempts at least muffle the high-pitched squeak. Hic. Your body jumps into his coinciding with the spasm of breath. “…Do we have to?”

“Eventually, yes. I think so, yes.”

You sigh, leaning against him. Your shoulder is tucked under his arm to allow for the most physical contact possible. Aside from the occasional hiccough your breathing has finally returned to normal again. The muffled sounds of movement and conversation of the others seems a bit louder – they must be done in the kitchen and have moved into the main room – the sounds traveling down the hall to the bedroom and your current location a bit easier. “I guess you’re right,” you admit with hesitation, “but not yet… It smells good in here.”

Tom chokes out a low laugh, “And here I feel like I can taste it the scent is so strong.”

You twist to press the side of your cheek flat over his chest, “Stop breathing through your mouth, then.”

Another few minutes pass before either of you rise. You have to stand first, the odd way that Tom has trapped you in his arms essentially keeping him from moving until you’re standing. You keep a firm grip on Tom’s hand as the pair of you emerge from the tiny washroom. No one is waiting for you in the bedroom, or even in the hallway beyond. The entire group is seated in the main room and fall quiet as you approach them.

Your father swallows, scrunching his forehead a moment before addressing you, “Honey?”

You look down at the floor. If they hadn’t been treating you as though you were falling apart _before_ , they sure will be _now_. “I’m…” Tom gives your hand a squeeze in warning. Yes, the word _fine_ had been on the tip of your tongue. You smile lopsidedly at the floor before lifting your eyes to look at each of the men in turn, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare everyone. Obviously I’m a mess…” You don’t get much further in your explanation before everyone starts talking at once.

“You don’t need to apologize to us.”

“Honey…”

“We’re here for you.”

“We understand completely.”

You pull your hand free of Tom’s to wave both of your hands, palms out, at the rest. John, being the closest to you and having uttered the last comment, gets the focus of your irritation. “Don’t say that. How can you say that? I don’t even understand.” You immediately regret the snapped retort and press your fingers to your temple, muttering apologies as you shake your head.

“Honey. What he means, what we all mean, is that we aren’t judging you for…”

You’re half listening to your father’s words. You’re exhausted. He hasn’t made it far in his cautious approach when you sway on your feet. Tom quickly darts his arm out to steady you, emitting a grunt of concern. “I know. I know. Sorry.” You shrug, moving your hand to seek out the spot where Tom has wrapped his fingers around your forearm. “Not myself. I’m – I think I’ll – I need to lay down.”

“What can I do?” Your father looks between you and Tom, shadows and wrinkles making him appear much more aged than you’ve remembered him looking before.

Tom replies before you can think of anything else to say. “I’ve got her, sir.”

“Can I do anything? Dinner? Honey?”

The thought is nice but it is doubtful if you could keep anything down right now. All you want at the moment is to be wrapped in a blanket in the quiet of your bedroom. Maybe listen to Tom’s breathing, if he can settle himself beside you for a moment. You don’t even have to voice the request. He pauses to give your arm a squeeze and press his lips to the top of your head before standing and taking a step towards the bedroom door.

“I’ll be right back, ______. Let me go see them out.” You tune out all but fragments of muttered conversation that last for a few minutes more, then the front door opens and shuts. Light footfall precedes the bed shifting as Tom adds his weight to the mattress, wrapping his arm over your waist and hauling you back to press against him. “It’s just us now, they’ve gone home for the night.”

Words are slow to tumble from your lips, “All of them?”

“Yes.” He presses his lips against your neck at the edge of your hairline, “Your father and Richard made sure something light was readily accessible once you’re hungry.”

“Uuuuugh. No food.” Just thinking about it makes your abdomen clench.

“I know, darling. Shhh. Don’t worry about that now. Rest.” 

The end of the week arrives sooner than you expect. With your assurances that you will not miss this first appointment, or any that might follow, your father agrees to head back home. Rather than sensationalize his departure, John has agreed to take your father to the airport, leaving you to say goodbyes in the privacy of your home.

It was nice having him visit, even considering the circumstance. Phone calls and video chats just don’t equal the emotional sum of a bear hug and the tactile rumble of words.

Tom and your father are chatting quietly while John loads luggage into the waiting car. Everyone seems to be stalling, not the usual way of things when preparing for a flight. 

Not for the first time, you wish they could have met any other time than right after such an incident. _Yes sir, she was attacked. I arrived home but not soon enough to prevent harm from coming to her._ How many different variations of that can you play through your head? — Each sounding just as horrible, and just as likely to have been uttered, as the rest.

You catch the tail end of a conversation as your father heads for the door, Tom’s hand still firmly grasped in a handshake. “She’ll always go for the long battle, Tom.”

Tom smiles that gentle smile that you adore, not the one that fully lights up his face but the half hidden one. He nods, emitting a short chuckle as he moves his hand up and down at the same pace as his head. “Yes. Sir.”

You manage one last hug from your father before he leaves with John. After they leave you bump your shoulder into Tom’s and ask, “Now, what was that about?” 

"Hmm? What? Nothing. Just offered insight - and something I already knew." 

Yes. It had been that. Tom’s answer is true enough, and yet it also felt like something more had transpired that you had caught a glimpse of, and yet still seemed to miss.


	60. Chapter 60

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Your father’s departure means your first session with the studio appointed psychiatrist. With the increasing frequency of your panic attacks, you see the point of your going - you just need to learn to accept the help that is being offered._

Promises made are promises kept. Particularly the promises you’ve made. Particularly because of the ones you made them to… That’s why you’re seated in a slightly under-stuffed chair reading the diplomas on the wall that speak to all her qualifications. But the point of going to see a psychiatrist was to actually talk and  _listen_  to a psychiatrist – which you aren’t exactly doing at the moment. Oops.

“—a big step to open up to someone new. Anything you share will only exist in this room, unless it is something that causes me to fear for your safety.” That makes your attention pull from the diplomas on the wall behind her to focus on her face. Susan blinks back at you – she’s insisted upon Susan rather than anything more formal – her demeanor steady despite the fact that you clearly weren’t listening before. “We can talk about anything you want. Yes, I was hired specifically to help you deal with the more recent trauma you’ve endured but I don’t want you to feel forced in any way.”

The corner of your mouth twitches at the statement, considering you have two bodyguards sitting in the waiting room beyond and the fact that you’d essentially been barred from work until after the completion of this appointment. No, there’s no feeling of being forced here at all.

Susan is doing the same thing everyone else is – talking with purpose, choosing her words as though you might fracture with the wrong word choice. So far the panic attacks have only been triggered by visual stimuli. Hopefully you can get your mind sorted before the base of triggers expands. Right now she’s waiting for you to offer her a way in, one that you’ve not yet given her.

“If, for any reason, you’re uncomfortable with me speaking with me in particular – I can arrange for you to talk to someone else?”

You shake your head. That will just delay you getting back to work. “No… This is fine.” You shift in your seat, trying to make yourself more comfortable. Maybe if you weren’t ready to launch yourself up and out of your chair you’d be able to open up to her, “I just, I don’t know where to begin.”

“And that’s ok. It’s a start.”

Richard and Bruce had drawn the mind numbing task of waiting for you for the duration of the session – they seem ever so ready to leave when you reemerge from Susan’s office. You’ve got another appointment booked for a week from now. Hopefully the gesture of good faith will get the studio to allow you to come back. Your luck, they’ll probably insist on biweekly visits. What a mess that will make of the shooting schedule.

Even from what little you admitted to, Susan had developed some concerns. She wanted to push further when you mentioned the fact that you weren’t sleeping well – wanting to know if it was restlessness or dreams that were the root of the problem – but you’d gotten so tense that she left it for another time. What a fun way to spend 90 minutes.

Bruce tries for banter on the ride back home but your mind is stuck reexamining the session. In trying for reassuring, Susan had said something about your symptoms potentially leveling out after a few weeks. A few weeks. Can you survive a few weeks of feeling hungry but then being unable to eat once you have food before you? Or the exhaustion that has plagued you? You rub at your calf, trying to ease the pinch of your muscles – the result of how rigidly you’d been sitting. A few weeks of this seems absolutely unbearable.

The first thing you notice when you walk in the door is that Tom and John have rearranged the furniture in the living room to block out space to run lines. John is seated – the loveseat and coffee table pushed back to the far wall of the room – while Tom is standing in the middle of the clearing, his hands held behind his back to hide the pages from view. He looks a bit pale – from exertion from the scene? Usually that would cause his cheeks and the back of his neck to tinge a bit pink… Has he looked this way all week?

Tom falls out of character, the scene forgotten, and turns to watch you drop your bag by the door. “How’d the session go?”

He should be back at work but instead he’s here worrying over you, asking questions… and not sleeping well, apparently. The bruise-like circles under his eyes look almost as pronounced as yours, though every time you wake up during the night he appears sound asleep. Are the pair of you taking shifts jarring yourselves awake? You try to shake yourself out of the surge of guilt making it difficult to breathe. “Fine.” You catch Richard shaking his head in the negative and drawing his hand back and forth at his neck to silently say:  _Abort abort. No no no._

Tom doesn’t miss Richard’s mime either. He gives Richard a sour look before switching his gaze back to you, saying your name after a long exhale of breath. “______…”

John is up and off the loveseat as you reply, all three bodyguards recognizing the storm that is about to make landfall and are trying to get out of dodge. You hear Richard muttering something about walking around the complex and then you and Tom are alone in the living room.

How tempting it is to turn about and follow the three men, rather than have this conversation. “Tom, don’t start with me. I’ve just sat through the longest hour and a half of my life.”

“Are you hearing yourself? All anyone is trying to do is help.” He’s still standing in the middle of the living room, unmoved from where he had turned to watch you walk in the door. It’s impossible to look away from him.

The comfort of seeing him standing there is gone now, and your guilt turned to annoyance. “You know what? Why don’t you sit through someone pressing at the sore spots incessantly and  _then_  tell me how _helpful_  it is.”

“I’m thinking about it. Richard and John, too.”

That news rocks you. Why is it that learning that causes both a surge of guilt, and anger?   _Great. Let’s see if we can get a group discount. Four for the price of one?_

He rubs one of his hands over the lower part of his face, the action tugging at the fine wrinkles that have appeared there over the last few days. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted. I’m tired of twitching every time someone rounds the corner. But it requires effort to get better. I don’t think this is going to be something you can stubborn your way past, despite your best efforts…”

“Tom—“

As you bite out his name he already has his hands held up, “All I’m saying is  _try._  We all have to try to deal with what happened. Try and – make sense of it. To move forward.”

“You think I’m not?” The tension that had built up during the session with Susan is getting worse – forming a pressure that you can’t work out despite trying to shift and pop your neck to relieve the feeling.

“Well,” he is doing his best not to engage your anger and lock down his own surge of emotions. You watch the muscles of his jaw work when he clenches his mouth shut, then decides to speak his mind, damn the consequences. He at least manages to keep his voice level. “The panic attacks are growing more frequent. Did you mention that at all? Or did you keep telling her you were  _fine_ , and ready to go back to work?”

“What I did or didn’t tell her–“ You stumble over your words. He’s right. You’re angry because he’s right. You may have admitted to her that you were experiencing a few moments where you were reliving the attack, but you’d done your best to downplay it. “Jesus, Tom. No – I talked about how fun it is to have this asshole still fucking with my head. We touched on the fact that I can’t sleep. How I sometimes flinch away from you because for one crazy moment as I scare myself awake at night I think HE’s in bed beside me.”

You’re off and running now, your anger washing out everything else. You’re not really mad at Tom, but he’s bearing the brunt of it. And just standing there taking it. He’s got his jaw held tight to prevent himself from responding, letting you vent it all. If you could stop yourself from taking it out on him, you would. You can’t even cross the room. You just stand there and expel the venom.

“I’ll make notes for next time – just to make sure I don’t forget and fuck with whatever  _progress_  I might be making. Be sure to tell her that I’m only just able to walk into my own damned kitchen again, without completely losing my appetite. And oh while I’m on that subject – how about the fact that despite your presence – despite the fact that we have THREE goddamned bodyguards – I still feel like I should be looking over my shoulder. Even in my own home. Goddamnit he’s—“ you pause, sputtering over the fact that you’re hesitating over saying his name, “he’s… Mitch is locked up and I’m… I  _hate_ that I’m afraid to open fanmail now. That something might get past Richard and Mark.”

“What’s worse? I feel like I did something. Susan – that’s her name, by the way – Susan said guilt after something traumatizing like this is  _natural_. Natural.” You throw your hands up in the air before slapping them down at your side again, the sting on your thighs doesn’t come remotely close to distracting from your frustration. “Well  _fuck_  natural. And fuck you for thinking that I’m choosing to revel in this feeling. Jesus, Tom. You know me. If I’m saying that I’m  _fine_  it’s because I’m trying desperately not to fall apart. How dare you judge me. How dare you…”

You half expect him to start yelling, shouting at you in return as payback for all that you’ve just thrown at him. Instead he simply pulls his phone from his pocket, focuses on the screen a moment, and then takes the few needed steps to close the distance between the pair of you. He pushes his phone into your hands and then turns, stalking down the short hallway before disappearing into the bedroom.

You watch him leave, wondering just what the hell took place in your living room – reeling slightly from the fact that you just blew up at the man you love, merely for the fact that he was expressing concern.

“Hello?” You look down uncertainly to find Diana looking up at you from the screen of Tom’s phone. “_______?” You glance back down the hallway towards the bedroom. He’s instigated a videochat with his mother.

“Uhhhhh. Hi.” Your response is wavered, your anger dissipating, as you adjust the way you’re holding his phone so his mother gets a less ungraceful view.

She was clearly in the middle of something but had answered immediately upon seeing her son’s number pop up. It’s late in the day for her but still, she had answered without hesitation. “Everything alright?”

“NO!” Tom’s reply comes shouted, echoing down the hallway.

You glare at the bedroom door that Tom hasn’t bothered to close. Eavesdropper. “Everything’s fi—“ you rethink the wisdom of using the word that just set a bomb off in your living room. “I think your son is a little upset with me right now, Diana.”

“Understatement of…”

You talk over Tom, holding the phone away from you a bit as you turn and respond down the hallway, “People who walk into another room after dialing their  _mother_  don’t get to be included in the conversation!” You wince as you look back at the phone, hoping you hadn’t just shouted that right into the speaker. Sheepishly, you apologize, “Sorry… Hang on, let me see if he wants to talk to you.”

Diana is nodding, expression conveying her confusion. Tom is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, hanging onto the doorframe as he leans out into the hallway to look at you. In juxtaposition to Diana’s confusion, Tom’s stern shake of his head is colored by a look of pure annoyance. “No. No, you sit down and talk with her. I need a minute.”

“You sure? Cause you keep interrupting.” Why can’t you shut your mouth? Why is every word he utters met with a sharp retort? You puff out a breath as he disappears back into the bedroom again. You’re just digging your hole. You do as he asks, walking over to settle onto the loveseat before turning your attention back to the phone. Diana is waiting patiently for an explanation. “I went to my first session with my new psychiatrist today…. I guess saying that it left me a little tense is a little inaccurate.”

“VERY.”

You sigh and look towards the bedroom, “Fuck, Tom. Just come out here.” He doesn’t reemerge so you continue with your conversation with his mother. You shake your head, “Sorry to put you into the middle of this. Oh – and sorry for the language. My father would be scolding me right now…”

“I heard he was just there for a visit.”

Tom has been keeping his mother up-to-date on everything, it seems. You resist the urge to peek towards the hallway to see if he’s ventured out of the bedroom yet. “Yes. That was a surprise. Tom calling him and asking him to come spend some time. I – it was unexpected. Interesting, with all of us here. But wonderful, too.”

“Tom mentioned that you’ve missed spending time with them. Do you know yet if you’ll be spending the holidays with your mother or father? We just recently had you here, so I understand if the pair of you are planning on staying there – but there’s always a spot for you at the table.”

You haven’t really considered what the pair of you would be doing over the holidays. The end of the year is quickly approaching – you’ve been so preoccupied with work and then the whole Mitch ordeal that the holidays have sort of snuck up on you. What were Tom’s plans? You’ll ask him, right after you finish apologizing for losing your temper. “Thank you Diana. I appreciate that. We haven’t really talked about that, yet.”

She nods as she replies, “Take your time. I know the both of you are struggling with what that man did.” Her expression darkens as she references Mitch, then flips back to pleasant as she tries to reassure you. “But you can help one another make it through this and whatever else you might face.”

You remember to curb your cursing just as you reply, “If I don’t manage to – muck it up. I’m not entirely sure why he puts up with me, all that I’ve put him through. Your son… You’ve raised an amazing man, Diana.” The next time you look towards the bedroom he’s standing just outside of the doorway, watching you quietly. You let a small smile pull at the corners of your mouth, “I think – I’m going to let you go? I need to go apologize to Tom.”


	61. Chapter 61

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Your determination to try to prove to one and all that you are fine is failing. Everything is not going to magically go right back to normal. You can’t simply will it all away - push yourself through the lingering effects of having someone stalk you, having someone attack you in your home. The way you choose to vent your frustration? Shouting at Tom? Right. Excellent plan. Ever so helpful._

You offer up the device to the slowly approaching Tom after ending the call with his mother. He doesn’t want the phone back though, not just yet. He shakes his head in the negative as he stalls his steps, stopping just on the edge of the room, right where the hallway ends. That stings more than a little.

And is more than a little deserved.

His prodding, on top of that by the new psychiatrist – combined with the kid gloves used by friends, family, and coworkers – everything had contributed to your outburst. Ultimately, your inability to accept the help of others was the culprit. While your frustration over all of it boiled over, your fury directed at Tom, he had maintained his temper enough to mostly remove himself from the argument.

Tom has been doing his best to work through his own issues regarding the incident while also dealing with the poor attitude brought on by your issues as well. Whatever have you done to deserve his endless patience? His love?

_Oh goody. Another massive wave of guilt._  You run your thumb over the edge of his phone, not sure exactly what to do with it. If you keep it in your lap you’ll be tempted to fiddle with it – and the last time you did that you accidentally took a screenshot of yourself, which  _somehow_  ended up as his lock-screen.

“I’m sorry, Tom…”

He has his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the hallway wall. “Hmm?”

You roll your eyes. You’re trying to apologize and he’s going to make it difficult? “Maybe you’d be able to hear me say  _I’m sorry_  and all the reasons  _why_  if you’d come a little closer.”

The hint of a smile starts to show through the irritated expression held on his face. He tilts his head to the side slightly, “Maybe. I think I’ll wait here a moment longer, just to be safe… So – enunciate.”

You shift to set his phone on the table’s edge, muttering under your breath, “Enunciate, he says.”

“What was that?”

“You heard me.” You make a face after hearing the tone attached to the three words that just came out of your mouth. Shaking your head, you settle back on the cushions again. “Ok,” you breathe out before licking your lips – finally daring to look at Tom once more. “Trying that again.  _Thank you_  for trying to help me through this. Even while I’m making it difficult… And keeping our parents in the loop.”

That nets you a small nod from him but he doesn’t move otherwise.

“I know mine probably appreciate hearing more than the few details I’ve allowed them. But their end of the conversation is always along the lines of….”

No – no this is not about feeding your frustration, or venting, or complaining about circumstance. You’re apologizing to Tom for your behavior. Again. Maybe this should be yet another thing you take time to focus on with your new psychiatrist – this pattern of trying to sabotage your relationship.

“You know it is ok to do more to call me on it when I lose my temper, right? More than just glare and hand me off to your mother to try to throw me off?” You frown and look back towards his phone, “I mean, it was unexpected to find her suddenly looking up at me… The surprise certainly knocked the words right out of me. But…”

“I’m learning which battles to pick.”

“Tom…” It’s easier to focus on his phone rather than watching to see his reaction to you telling him it’s ok to shout right back. The corners of his screen cover are starting to show wear, the device mimicking its owner. As a result of your preoccupation you don’t see him lift anchor from his location at the edge of the room and approach.

Then comes that word –  _his_  word – and you look up to find him almost to the loveseat, two steps from joining you: “ _Darling,_ what good can come from doing something more? We’ve gone that route. Said things to each other we didn’t mean.” He pauses to scoop up his phone from its precarious perch, then seats himself, shaking his head all the while. “All that does is give us more to try to fix later.”

He’s close enough to touch so of course you do – his shoulder, his bicep, his forearm. Is this person seated before you even real? “How are you not angry?”

“Oh, I’m angry.” That makes you lift your hand off his arm once more. He quickly snares your fingers in his, reestablishing the contact. “Well, frustrated. But I also understand. Besides,” out comes that grin, finally, “I look forward to the many ways you’re going to make up for the shouting.”

There it is. The real motivation for his lack of response to your anger. You huff out a laugh, “You’re an idiot.”

“But you love me. And I you. Which is why the occasional lost temper doesn’t matter. So,” he brings your hand that he has snared in his own up to his lips to kiss your knuckles before finally releasing it, allowing you to drop your hand back into your lap, “about those reasons for being sorry. I’m all ears.”

“Of course you are. Sure we shouldn’t go round up the guys? Someone’s probably spotted the three of them out there marching around by now…” Which is surely a sight to behold – John, Bruce, and Richard trying not to draw attention to themselves while also trying to find something to occupy their attention for as long as it takes.

You’re trying not to settle into Tom’s arms for fear that he might think you’re using that as an avoidance technique, but the longer you sit there the more you feel the pull to be closer to him. It’s tempting to allow it to happen – right now it is just the pair of you in your place. You could just nestle together on the loveseat in your rearranged living room and enjoy the quiet.

Tom shakes his head ever-so-slightly from side to side. Your half-hearted protests are helping to more quickly replace his previously extremely irritated expression with his usual smile. “Nope. They’ll be fine a few minutes more…” He rests his hand lightly on your thigh, just to make it clear that he’ll hold you in place if you make a move to summon the bodyguards back. Again he repeats his prompt, accompanying the remark with a quirk of his eyebrows. “Reasons.”

“Reasons…. Reasons….” You mutter while you think about where to start, letting your gaze drift from his eyes down to the tip of his nose, further down yet to settle on his lips. You lift one shoulder in a shrug, “I’m stubborn?”

“Gloriously so.”

You may feel a thrill from the way his mouth moves when muttering the word  _gloriously_  but his response came a bit quick. You dart your eyes back up to meet his, frowning a little and pursing your lips at him, “You don’t have to agree so readily…”

He laughs, tucking his other arm between you and the back of the loveseat to pull you a bit closer, “Yes. Yes I do. Because it is the truth. It is a trait I adore, when it isn’t driving me mad.”

You scoff while allowing him to move you. You’ll be nuzzled against his chest in a minute. “Oh  _my_ behavior drives  _you_  mad….” You shake your head, “Pot.”

“Kettle.”

He may be frustrated with you and your reluctance to allow others to help you, but he’s not pushing you away. Quite the opposite. You’ve placed an incredible burden on him. Tom is – most days – the only one you’re allowing to see the full extent of the damage caused by Mitch. You owe him, and yourself, more.

Tom has almost stretched himself out to lay across the cushions of the loveseat. The moment you move to adjust how you’re sitting he is able to lift his legs and fully stretch out. You blow out a breath as you settle one hand over his heart, then lean to rest your cheek over the back of your hand. “I – I promise I’ll work on it, Tom.”

“I know, darling.”

“And for the record, I  _am_  tired of jumping at every little movement in my peripheral vision.”

“I know.” He lets his hand drift down your ribcage as you sit up again to stare at him. He smiles, letting a light chuckle escape, “Sometimes pushing your buttons is the only way to get you to  _see_  something.”

You sit there and frown at him a moment before reclining against him again. Another issue to work on with Susan – but you’ll examine that growing list later. Right now? You’re drained. The rush of adrenaline associated with your earlier flare of anger is leaving your system. All you want to do is lay there and listen to Tom’s heart beating steadily within his chest.

You awake with a start to Tom’s rushed intake of breath, his arms twitching into a protective hug around your torso. It takes you a second to get your bearings. The both of you had fallen asleep on the couch, only to have the arrival of Bruce, John and Richard jolt you from dreamland back to reality.

Richard looks over his shoulder at the other two men who are just crossing the threshold, “Well, they didn’t kill each other. Just decided to let us wander the complex aimlessly for an  _hour_.”

Tom stretches before looking at his watch, apparently just as hesitant as you to take Richard’s word for how long the pair of you have been asleep. He drops his arm again, giving you a small nod. You emit a groan. An hour? You shift to try to sit up and realize that the way that you and Tom are tangled together has made your left leg fall asleep from the knee down. You start to massage the muscles of your calf, working through the pins and needles feeling so that you can be sure it will support your weight when you decide to try to get up.

“While they slept.” Bruce lets out a laugh as soon as he peers around Richard. “Really? We circled the place several dozen times.”

John is last in the door, speaking as he shuts it behind him. “He’s exaggerating. Not so many laps as that.” He pauses before adding a thought, one of his rare smiles appearing. “Thank you for not killing each other.”

“Our pleasure.” Tom mutters. He is slow to stand but once he is on his feet he seems back to his usual self. “So – you lot are probably ready for food, then. Or should we all go for a run. Work up an appetite?”

Bruce looks longingly at the sofa but stays where he is in the hallway, ready to turn about if that is the needed action. You stand, testing your weight on your still protesting leg. “Oh no, let’s not. Food. Please food.” You risk looking towards the kitchen but decide for shuffling around the living room with the others for the time being. “Pizza?”

Pizza, breadsticks, and something devilish for dessert – all of which you’re determined to consume and keep down. You might even consider a bit of the salad that had been ordered. But first you head to the bedroom, telling the guys you want to clean up before the food arrives. Really you’re going to snag Tom’s wallet from where you’d seen it peeking out of the pocket of a different pair of trousers, intent on hiding it.

Finally, you will get him back for hiding your wallet all those months ago during your initial trip to London to see him.


	62. Chapter 62

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Your efforts to stubborn past the lingering effects of having a stalker are unsuccessful - to the point that you end up losing your temper and shouting at Tom for pointing out that you aren’t alone in your battles. He is right, though, and as soon as you admit that - both to yourself and to him - you find that you can breathe a bit easier. And then you find yourself presented with an opportunity for mischievousness - a small bit of fun much needed._

Worried that Tom’s natural curiosity will cause him to wonder where you’ve gone – that he’ll walk in and catch you trying to remove his wallet from his trousers – you don’t take the added time to pry the desired item loose from his pants pocket. Instead of wasting time, you just fold the endless fabric up upon itself and shove the whole mess into the drawer of the nightstand by the bed. Winner! You’ll pay for lunch for everyone and maybe tell him where you stashed his wallet later tonight,  _if_  he asks in the right way.

Tom is just where you left him when you reemerge from the bedroom, your absence not long enough to be noted. You can barely keep your smile contained as you rejoin the group in the main room, pausing to snag your card from your bag just in case Tom has a stash of money on him at the moment. You will be the one to pay today, damn it. You will.

After the events of the morning everyone has settled once more. Tom and John have resumed their perusal of the pages of Tom’s script so you seek out the other two. Richard and Bruce have disappeared into the kitchen. Though the newspaper sits scattered across the table it is clear that the two men have abandoned the acquiring of news in favor of setting up for the impending meal. Their jaunt outside has made them hungry. You’re tempted to join them and help with setup but since they’re planning on having the meal in there you decide on saving up your ‘kitchen allotment’ for the meal.

You remain just outside the doorway as you watch them move about the newly renovated kitchen. You’ve grown accustomed to having each of the men around – more than just in their capacity as bodyguards. They have become close to you, dear to you, friends. You’ve grown used to Bruce’s jokes, and Richard’s wit – and John’s quiet manner has provided a steady comfort throughout this whole ordeal.

And then there’s Tom. You turn and lean back into the doorframe to watch as Tom bobs from foot to foot while he runs lines with John. He finally settles, stepping over to tentatively plant himself on the arm of the loveseat as John takes over his part of the dialogue.

Tom won’t be immobile for long, not if he’s trying to memorize anything. He seems to sense that you’re watching him and glances up from his pages to smile at you, not missing a beat when John finishes prompting him. Tom holds out his hand as you approach, allowing you to settle against him to observe.  

Running lines. If only you could be doing the same with the material from the Touring Sundays sequel. One week of being off the schedule. Fully off the schedule. One week where they demand that you are completely devoted to your sessions with your new therapist. One week and then you’ll be back to playful banter with Matt and Andrew.

You follow along with the words as John reads them aloud, then Tom’s response. Tom is quick, relaying the first bit of his dialogue before shaking his head and starting again, not liking the flow of his own delivery. It might help him if you weren’t adding a distraction, his arm snaked around your waist, but he won’t release you to wander away from his side. You’re stuck, for the time being… not that you mind the proximity.

When the doorbell alerts you as to the arrival of the food, you peck Tom on the cheek and give him a little wink as the both of shift apart, readying to move towards the door. He looks a bit puzzled by your excitement over the food’s arrival. You keep ahead of him, and have your card out and ready to hand to the delivery person before Tom can set down his pages. He joins you quickly with John close behind him. You pass off the boxes to Tom to free up your hands in order to add an extra tip to the total and sign the receipt.

Tom only questions you one the door is closed. “The prospect of pizza that exciting, is it?”

“Mmmm hmmm.” You follow along behind him as he leads the way to the kitchen.

He studies you in a sidelong glance over his shoulder, calling your bluff. “No. That’s not it. So, tell me… What was that look for?”

John, having supervised the delivery from a few paces behind Tom, has already joined the other two bodyguards – holding out an empty plate towards you as Tom sets the boxes on the kitchen table. You decline John’s offering, choosing instead to bump your hip into Tom’s while you stuff your card into your back pocket once more. “Hmmm, I got to pay today.”

Tom nods, furrowing his eyebrows together momentarily. Insofar as explanations go, yours evidently didn’t provide him a clear answer. “Erm. Yes, darling. You did.”

He looks questioningly to the other three men, as if one of them might hold the answer as to your behavior, but receives shrugs in response. Has it been so long since everyone could relax that no one remembers the ongoing battle to be the one to pay?

While they’re puzzling it out between themselves you stop by the sink to wash your hands. An explanation is necessary or all four of them will stand there looking dumbfounded rather than digging in. You laugh over your shoulder, the cool water splashing over your skin as you relish this feeling of normalcy. It will take time for everyone to heal, and what a way to get it started.

“I hid your wallet.”

Tom watches as you dry your hands, giving you a funny look. “What?”

Richard has stopped moving, breadstick halfway to his mouth. There – the light of realization – from one, at least. The story about Tom hiding your wallet, one that he’s heard many times over. He looks tremendously amused by what is going on – finally a victory in retribution for Tom’s antics in London all those months ago! – and perhaps a bit of hopeful thinking that you won’t bring it up again. One by one the bodyguards’ faces change. Realization and then amusement.

The thought seems to travel through the room until you’re left looking at Tom. Tom, who has the most curious expression on his face. “Noooo, you didn’t…” He balances his empty plate in one hand and reaches back to pat his back pocket, then stills. “Oh. Oherm, y—es. Yes, you did.”

You quirk your head at him, ignoring the reactions from the others and the tempting smell of food that is filling your little kitchen. You furrow your eyebrows together. Tom had reached back to pat his back pocket – clearly he has his wallet on him. “But…”

“I – have erm, two. Two wallets.” Tom has switched from confusion into a look that more resembles panic. “I just haven’t, uh, finished switching everything over.”

The other three in the room are absolutely loving this – whatever this is.

“Liar. You do not. You use a thing until it wears out. So what did I hide?” You wonder aloud and then dart for the door to the kitchen.

You hear Tom abandon his plate on the table, the clatter letting you know that he is right on your heels. It is a short race down the hall. You know without looking that the three bodyguards have abandoned their much desired meal to follow.

Tom tries to slip past you to block the doorway to the bedroom but he’s too slow for his efforts to be successful. Once in the bedroom the pair of you separate again. You dive for the nightstand while he beelines for the last place he’d seen his trousers. He stops, stumped, when he realizes they aren’t where he left them.

He spins on his heel as he speaks, “You hid? Oh. Oh! _______.”

These precious few moments where he is stalled in the center of the room are all that you need to yank open the nightstand drawer and retrieve his trousers and not-wallet. He seems to recover as soon as he sees his trousers in your hands, his arms wrapping around you as you turn your back to him. Swatting his hands away doesn’t do much good in terms of gaining access to his pants pocket. You mutter as you try to play keep-away: “Should have known by the shape of it that it wasn’t a wallet…”

“_______. Darling…”

“This. Is. Brilliant.” Bruce is nearly doubled over in the doorway he’s laughing so hard, his hold on Richard’s shoulder seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. Even John is grinning broadly at the antics being witnessed. A fat lot of help they all are.

It is a race to get the pants legs unwound enough to pry the not-wallet from the pocket containing it before Tom can fumble the fabric from your grasp. You keep turning, trying to keep your back to him as you struggle with the fabric.

Damn him and his long legs! And long arms. It is impossible to keep him from being able to grasp at your hands, or keep him from getting a decent hold on you to turn you around and claim that which you’re trying to unravel. He manages to wrangle the items from your grasp just as you’re freeing the contents of the pocket from where they’d been so firmly secured.

It isn’t a wallet. Now that you see it more clearly – if only for a moment. It is not a wallet, though it is close in size. It is a box – made to be similar in size and shape. From the great deal of trouble you had in getting the box  _out_  of the pocket, you can only imagine how much of a pain it had been trying to get it  _in_  – particularly if he was wearing the trousers at the time.

Of course the box hadn’t just hinged open. All that work and… you catch a glimpse of the latch, but now Tom has possession of the box, and seems determined to keep it out of reach.

“Tom? Come on. What is that?”

He tries to hide it behind his back and the roles become reversed. Where he had been chasing you in circles, you are now circling him.

“Nothing! Nothing! A – a second – wallet… Something cool sent to me from… Stop that! _______…” Tom casts his trousers aside, tossing them onto the bed to better defend against your attempts to reclaim the box. He ends up holding onto you with one arm, utilizing his impressive arm span to keep the box beyond your reach.

Breathless, you shake your head and squirm in Tom’s grasp. You point to the item in question, since he has the pair of you locked firmly in place. “Oh come on,  _that_  is  _not_  a wallet! Guys? One of you want to stop standing there gaping and help, please?”

All three of them shake their heads, clearly enjoying the antics they are witnessing.

Tom is laughing, too, but there is a nervous edge to it. “They’re enjoying this – far too much… ________, please. Will you…” He releases you and takes a few steps away, holding the box out so you can look at it while making sure that it remains out of your reach, just to be safe. “Look. Alright. Ok. It is a box, not a wallet. Satisfied? Can we go eat?”

Your curiosity isn’t sated. Not by a long shot. You shake your head, “No. Not satisfied. What’s in it?”

“A gift.” Tom supplies. You give him a look that prompts for further explanation. He hems, still trying to catch his breath, “For you. That I’ve apparently now got to hide – to keep you from opening it before it is time.”

A gift? He’s started shopping for the holidays already? Curiosity is nagging at you. From the shape of the box it is a trinket – a necklace, or… perhaps a bracelet? Maybe something to replace the one that was tainted by Mitch – the one that you auctioned off?

You keep glancing between his face and the box that he has a death grip on. “And what’s wrong with right now?”

“It’s not the right time.”

“Not even if I promise to act surprised later? Whenever  _the_   _right time_  is?” You make a face as you make the request, taking a step towards him. Even if he originally meant it as a Christmas gift, and he _does_  actually let you see it, you’ll probably forget by the time the holiday rolls around. Or maybe it is meant as a part of a costume for Halloween? Though why that would make it so very crucial to remain hidden… Not that doesn’t make sense. Damn it – what is it?  

Your request draws a chuckle from him, this time one that isn’t laced with nervousness. “No.” He lowers his hand, removing the box from your line of sight. He keeps his body between you and the box, taking your hand when you’re close enough, then pulling you to him. You catch the flicker of his eyes, glancing to the others in the room before looking down at you.

You bite your lip before frowning, still not quite ready to let it go. His reason isn’t exactly a  _reason.._. “Cause it isn’t the right time?”

“Exactly.”

Looking up at him you know you’re going to cave. He knows it, too… even if you haven’t admitted it aloud, yet. You can survive not finding out what is held within that box this very minute – just like you survived the incident with Mitch, just like you can survive the aftershocks of said encounter.

You mutter a single word of protest, “But…”

No. No more arguing. Tom wants to wait to give you whatever it is in that box. It might be an attempt at distraction – something used as a technique to pull your focus away from your persistent nightmares – but… but it doesn’t feel like it. He could just as easily use the mystery item to distract you right this very minute, give it to you in the hopes that your joy over the gift helps you to move past recent events. But that wouldn’t be healing. That wouldn’t be addressing your night terrors, or any of the other symptoms that your therapist had listed off while you sat there nodding internally, all the while growing increasingly frustrated from being poked and prodded.

You sigh, keeping your hands pressed flat against his chest to make it clear you’re no longer making an effort to reclaim the box from him. “Ok.”

“Ok. Good. Thank you.” Tom shifts and you feel him kiss the top of your head. “Now – can we go eat? I’m starved.”

You nod, burying your curiosity over the box and setting aside your stubbornness, for once. If he says it isn’t the right time you’ll just have to take his word for it. If it is a gift meant for the holidays it will be yet another reason you’re looking forward to celebrating with him.  If it isn’t? Well – you’re learning to love his surprises.


	63. Chapter 63

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: [forever and a moon ago] Tom has temporarily moved in with you. It makes sense while the pair of you are filming in the same state and is a happy distraction as time allows you to mentally rebuild. The passage of time, however, means that the holidays are approaching. Tom has apparently already found ‘the perfect gift’ - though he’s hidden it from you.

Your days blur together – some shorter, some longer – in a mad rush to get as much done locally before the holiday season begins. After the break for Thanksgiving the cast and crew will be mobile: location after location after location. Dinner for two tonight after a grueling day, but not the two you’d prefer. Tom is late as well, meaning you’ve only got to battle Bruce’s preferences regarding the meal. Poor Bruce has been stuck with you all day, John with Tom. Richard, you suspect, is spending his day off side-eyeing his phone while trying to will it to ring.  Getting the trio of bodyguards, and all other parties involved, to agree to the rotation had been a chore despite the uneventful span of time.

You’re only half paying attention to the way Bruce is flipping through channels. The Late Show has aired, as well as The Late-Late Show. Even though the complex has increased their security Bruce is determined to wait until John drops Tom at home before he’ll leave for the day.

As much as you’d like to be awake to greet Tom as he walks in the door tonight that doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen. You push aside the rewrites you’ve been studying, “Bruce. Your eyes aren’t even open. Go and get some sleep.”

He heaves out a sigh, lifting his head from where he’s been cradling his chin in the palm of his hand so you can better see how he rolls his eyes as he faux-considers your request, “Hmmm. No. I’m waiting till they get here.”

It’s the answer you always get when you’re feeling confident enough to voice the request. You know better than to ever try it with Richard. Still, the door has locks so it isn’t exactly necessary for Bruce to stick around. Is this what normal is now? Always in the company of others? Always protected? You hope not.

“Come on. You’re randomly pressing the channel button and watching the backs of your eyelids. I haven’t absorbed a single word from these pages. At some point resting is unavoidable.” You’ve been sleeping better lately, both a credit to the passage of time and working with your therapist. You wiggle your phone in Bruce’s direction before situating yourself once more and beginning to type out a message, speaking as you do so. “Look. I’m letting them know that you’re heading out and I’m going to sleep. And if Richard or John give you a hard time you can tell them the truth. I kicked you out.”

You pause tapping out your group message to smile and wink at Bruce. He harrumphs in response, but does begin moving about in preparation for leaving. Odds are that he’ll wait in his car outside –something you already feel slightly guilty over – but you’d rather that than have him sitting in your living room while you try to sleep. That seems a little beyond the job description.

As testament to how far you’ve progressed with your therapist, and true to her claim that time will help to right your world once more, you don’t bolt upright upon hearing Tom arrive home. You groggily acknowledge his murmured greeting as the mattress shifts under his weight.

“Sorry, darling. I tried to be quiet.” He looms over you for a moment to figure out where he wants to plant a quick kiss – your shoulder halfway to your neck – before the mattress shifts again as he settles down beside you. The scent of soap lingers. Evidently he washed before heading home from work. “Shhhh. Go back to sleep.”

You roll to face him, not putting up much resistance to his softly spoken demand. In the morning you’ll ask what caused his day to run so long. For now you’re content to drift back into dreamland, aided by the comfort of knowing the man you love is safely home.

With such a late night you do your best to tip toe out into the main room, leaving Tom buried under the covers.  There would be nothing better than snuggling close to him and ignoring the world, but you’re determined to keep to plans once they’ve been made. Having a structured morning routine has more or less been working thus far.

Richard is ready and waiting for the morning run. The moment you open the front door he steps into view, causing you to jump backward. You fix him with a sour look, but he simply shrugs it off. His immunity has built up over these past few months. Normally the pair of you exchange a bit of banter while you lock up. Not this morning. He’s focusing elsewhere, scanning the street for threats and perhaps – maybe – giving you a bit of a cold shoulder.

With the door secured you turn to him and that’s when he finally speaks, though keeping from making eye contact. “You shouldn’t have sent Bruce home last night with no one else there.”

Engaging him on this point hardly makes for a good start to the morning. “Good morning to you, too, Richard.” You try to keep your tone light as you bounce from foot to foot to show how ready you are to get moving. Better to set a decent pace from the start and rule out the possibility of playing 20 Questions with the few photographers that still hang around.

Richard keeps quiet, probably expecting some sort of apology and promise that you’ll not continue to try to reestablish your independence. Ha. It’ll be a long wait. You’ve no intention of offering up any such comment. Rather than allow the frustration you’re feeling to fuel a funk you use it to push the pace of the warmup routine.  

It isn’t until the pair of you pause that he tries to pick up the thread of conversation again. “We need to talk about the plan for the holidays.”

Seated on the ground, your nose to your knee to stretch out your hamstrings, you lift your head, trying not to look as broadsided by the change in topic as you feel. He’s moved from one minefield to another. Your surprise is followed closely by irritation. Again, you try to sidestep the emotion in favor of a calm, decent, normal day. “The plan… The plan is for the three of you to spend a few days with your own families. Tom and I will end up with one family or the other.”

Richard nods, his expression steady. “That’s not what I mean.”

Scheduling actually permits you to travel home for Thanksgiving, something you’d been unsure that you’d be able to do after missing so much time. Tom had accepted your mother’s invitation for Thanksgiving at home on your behalf. You’ve still yet to warn him about what he’s agreed to. That’s a fault you’ll shoulder. There just hasn’t been a good time to fully explain your oddball family.

And after Thanksgiving? After Thanksgiving is another matter. You have four days you can spend at your mother’s before on location filming begins. Spain, then Portugal, and on from there. You’ll not see Tom again until Christmas, probably … if you can even manage that.

But that – you leave all of that unspoken.

“I’m fully capable to getting myself to Madrid.”

Richard shakes his head, holding out his hand to help you up as you move to stand. “Yep. Not that we’ll let you go it alone. I’ll be flying with you when the dates are more firmly set. But again, not what I’m talking about.”

You sigh and attempt a smile. “I know. But family drama is not something I expect you to help me tackle. Showing up with a bodyguard will only make things more complicated.”

Richard knows full well you’ll not budge on the subject – and once running resumes you push the pace to a borderline sprint to ensure nothing else can be addressed. When you’re sucking down gulps of air it’s impossible to maintain a conversation.

As you walk in to the apartment you wince. Had you really left it in such a state? It looks like a dervish whirled through – that certainly isn’t your leather jacket slung over the back of the loveseat but those are your papers scattered across the table and on the living room floor…. And for the overwhelming SOUND. Music is _blaring_ , nearly forcing you to backtrack out the door. If it had been _you_ that had gotten home a mere three hours ago, you most certainly wouldn’t be up and blasting music. “Fuck, that’s loud. Hey! Tom! The neighbors will complain!”

Your good humor turns to alarm when you turn to make a face over your shoulder at Richard only to have him push past you, fully in bodyguard mode. Good thing the pair of you didn’t stop for coffee or you’d probably be wearing it right now.

“Hiddleston!” Richard bark’s out Tom’s name, louder than your string of comments. His tone sends chills through you, ruining the endorphin high that had resulted from your exercise. 

Richard is on high alert.

And Tom hasn’t answered. Can he not hear over the music? Why the hell is he even up? He can’t be rested.

Richard turns to point at you where you stand only a foot inside the door. “Stay. There.”

You feel a flash of emotion, the same sudden drop to your innards that had happened the moment Mitch had appeared in your kitchen. 

This isn’t the same. There isn’t an intruder. Tom is fine. Tom is fine. He’d hate that you’re saying _that word_ , but he _is._  He’s **FINE**. 

_Fuck_. Just one break. That’s all you ask.  Just one damned break.


	64. Chapter 64

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA:  
>  _Tom is temporarily living with you in LA - a golden opportunity that couldn’t be missed, though circumstance will soon be changing. Soon he’ll be back in London and then on to other projects, and you will be moving from location to location in a rush to finish the sequel to the movie that essentially put you on the map. Before you can get back to worrying about the challenges a long distance relationship can pose you need to sit down and talk a few things out with him. Coming home to find the place a disaster, music blaring, and Tom not answering when you call for him – you can’t help but wonder if maybe the world is trying to punish you for past offenses._

He’d come home late and snuggled close in bed, shushed you back to sleep after a simple kiss. You’d relented. You should have paused this morning to enjoy the moment more. You should have greeted him with more than a hazy hello before drifting back to sleep. When you were preparing for the morning run a few hours later you should have woken him to see if he wanted to go.

Instead you’d let him sleep – left him softly snoring, his long form hidden beneath the tangle of sheets and comforter. Had you even kissed him before tiptoeing out into the main room? You’d been so sure he would be there, still tucked away in bed, upon your return.

Internally you’re cursing a streak a mile wide. Mark would be indignant if he were present.

“Hiddleston! Tom!” Richard walks with purpose through the main room, towards the bedroom – the source of the music. He disappears down the hallway, repeating his call for your boyfriend to appear.

For a moment you are alone, standing transfixed in the doorway. Really, you should be right there on Richard’s heels. Why aren’t you? Why did you listen and hesitate just inside the door? Fear. As soon as Richard reacted your body had betrayed you, seized up at the thought of _another_ intruder. If someone else has broken in there’s nothing to it – that’ll be the end of your tenancy.

The upbeat nature of the song currently playing is only making matters worse. That’s what you should be doing – finding the source of the music and turning it the fuck down! You take another few steps to bring yourself closer to the hallway.

You jump when Richard suddenly emerges from the bedroom, his face flushed. He is shaking his head and holding his hands up to show you everything is alright. As he walks towards you the music lowers to a decibel more civil for this time of the morning.

Everything’s alright? Everything’s alright. He’s found Tom. Tom will appear soon, grinning and…

Richard’s face has gone scarlet. You’ve come to the cusp of the main room, right where the hallway connects. Richard bypasses you, waving an open palm towards the bedroom. “He’s… Up. Awake. Ah… You two…”

What on earth?

You make it three steps down the hallway before Tom emerges, rushing out of the bedroom with one hand grasping the upper edge of a towel that he has wrapped around his waist. Upon seeing him relief overwhelms you. He’s ok. Recently showered. Looking a little worn, certainly confused. He can join the club. You stumble forward to wrap him up in your arms. “Tom!”

Tom wraps one arm around your torso as he accepts your rush of affection, even if he doesn’t understand why. “Why didn’t you wake me? I would’ve gone running, too?”

Not quite ready to step away from him, you give your head a half shake, “You only just got home. You should be asleep…” Should be, but instead is up and waltzing around the bedroom half-naked. You take the opportunity to thunk him hard on his pectoral, only to rest your hand lightly over the area immediately afterwards.

“Only need a few hours. And apparently you’ve infected me with the once-you’re-up-you’re-up affliction.” In this half-hug he has you in he gives your shoulders a squeeze and then proceeds to step away and hold you at arm’s length. Looking from you to Richard, who has settled into one of the overstuffed chairs in the main room, he frowns, “So other than the run, what did I miss?”

He’s assuming that something happened on the run and is asking, in so many words, why Richard burst into the bedroom with such a sense of urgency.

Nothing had happened – at least nothing out of the ordinary. There had simply been the usual duckling train of paparazzi. At least they were willing to jog along to try to get their money shot. No – it’s just that despite so many weeks of quiet, everyone is still tense from the events of the past.

Richard seems to have regained his composure after finding Tom half naked. It’s his job to protect you, the pair of you when no other bodyguards are around. It won’t be an apology he utters.  “Hiddleston, _answer_ next time you hear one of us calling for you.”

Tom nods, his expression of confusion still in place. “Right. Sorry. The music…”

“So loud as to deafen the neighbors on all sides?” The comment sort of slipped out. You’re still not over the soundwave that hit you as you walked in the door, just before the panic set in. Quietly you supply the answer that clears the clouds from Tom’s face. “We thought the worst.”

He shifts to duck his head and plant a kiss atop your head. “I’m sorry, darling. Just wanted to help liven the morning. A bit of dancing.”

After ingesting the apology you raise your eyebrows at him, taking a long moment to let that mental image set in. Dancing around the house in nothing but a towel. Or maybe the towel was a late addition considering Richard’s reaction immediately after emerging from the bedroom…

Richard isn’t done scolding your boyfriend. He waves his arm, hand splayed wide, at the jumble of mail, papers, and clothing. “And the state of the place? When we left this morning it didn’t look like this.”

“Ah.” For a moment Tom looks appropriately sheepish. “That. I decided to try to pack up a few things…” He pauses to glance sidelong at you, “Erm, in prep for the holidays and… beyond. Didn’t want to leave anything important laying around.”

Richard clearly isn’t pleased with anyone this morning. “You two refuse to make…”

You tune out Richard’s griping, playing back Tom’s comments in your head. Your heart flutters, and then sinks. Perhaps Tom had been waiting for you to be out of the house so he could find and stash the little black box in a safer place – one where you wouldn’t accidentally stumble upon it. Accidentally, like you aren’t taking it upon yourself to attempt to seek it out every chance you get. He’s probably got it tucked safely away in his luggage now.

The small smile that had been forming over the game of keep away the pair of you have been waging fades. Tom is readying to _leave_. His thoughts are on the future – as he said: _the holidays and **BEYOND**._ He’s missing home, missing London, and – doubt is making itself at home within you – looking forward to time spent apart again? Ouch.

These are things you’ve been acknowledging as an upcoming part of your lives, but you’ve been doing your best to avoid dwelling on it. There have been so many other things to focus on, so many distractions to keep you occupied, so many reasons to say: _No I’ll deal with that tomorrow…_ Like the upcoming holidays. How are you going to explain your family to Tom? Will they behave themselves for his visit? Why the hell had he accepted their invitation?! You would’ve preferred to just apologize for missing yet another holiday with them and opt to spend time with Tom’s family. At least the drama there, their past dislike of you, is understandable.

The good news – well, assuming you survive Thanksgiving with your own family – is that Thanksgiving spent with your family means Christmas and New Years with his. Even if it is a day, one brief moment in the rush of the season when you can enjoy his company, that’ll be enough.

Again, assuming he’s not pulling away… assuming he hasn’t had enough of your singing in the shower, and the stockpiling of mugs in the kitchen sink. After being single and living alone for so long, sharing a space with someone can be challenging.

Richard’s bark of laughter shakes you loose from your worries. He’s cracking in his cranky resolve. “Ok. Ok. Please, Tom. Clothes. This is getting uncomfortable.”

Tom can’t help but respond with a quip, giving you a nudge that makes you sway on your feet as he turns to reenter the bedroom. “For you, Richard. I think maybe _she_ likes it.”

“Yea, sure.” Once Tom has shut the bedroom door behind him Richard points at you. “No more drama today, deal?”

That’s something you’ll gladly agree to. “Deal.”

He nods, slumping back in the chair again. “Deal. So coffee up and let’s get a move on. We have a schedule to keep to.”

The Touring Sundays sequel is plagued by delays on set, much like its predecessor. It looks like another long day to add to the rest. The job – the job that the both of you adore and pursue with such passion – seems to be widening the chasm that appears to be forming between you and Tom. What fills it? Those details about your family that need to be shared but you can never find the right time. The small thoughts from the day that seem important until you’re able to get to your phone and pop him a message. Or when the pair of you happen to be home, and awake … and not otherwise occupied.

Tom is not gone yet but still you think you already feel the strain of distance. It makes you even more determined to make the moments you have left full of laughter, fun, and reminders of how much you love him. The rest of it, the complications that you leave unvoiced keep compiling and you keep sweeping them aside. Later. You’ll deal with those details later, whenever later may be.

Your worry results in flubbed lines and missed marks on your part, only adding to the amount of time spent away from Tom, the long days spent with Matt and Andrew. It’s only half a complaint, really, because once the pair understand where your distraction is coming from, they do their best to alieve it.

Matt is sitting gingerly during today’s lunch break with an ice pack settled between his legs. To your faux bruises he will sport real ones for the next week or two. Won’t that be fun for Halloween… or maybe he can make it work for his costume, whatever he chooses to be. When Andrew apologizes for the millionth time for being the reason for the ice pack – a missed mark that wasn’t yours! – Matt grins back at him, “Oh there’s plenty of time for payback.”

“Hmm. Is that a threat, Sunday?” Andrew leans to steal a few of your fries. Rather than fight him on it you shove the lot closer to him.

Matt nods, but before he can reply you speak up, voicing today’s worry brought on by what you’re pretty sure was a frustrated huff when Tom was shuffling through books while packing the night before. Who better to ask that the two men who, other than your bodyguard team and Tom, have spent the most time with you over the past couple of years? “Guys. Am I annoying to be around? I mean, after an extended period of time am I annoying to live with?”

Neither seem to want to answer. You find all sorts of answers in their silence. You’re definitely not hungry anymore. Luckily it seems Andrew is – at least he quickly shoves another few fries in his mouth.

It is Matt who bites the bullet, hemming before he dares speak. “No. No, of course not.” He reaches to wrap one arm over your shoulders. “No more than any other person…”

You wince at his bluntness. That’s helpful. Really. Immensely.

“He means, “Andrew had winced right along with you, trying to speak up with a mouthful of fries. He swallows before continuing. “ **NO**. Simple statement. No.” He flattens his hand as he waves it above the table to mime as though cutting off the flow of words. “Just no.” After clearing his throat he stage whispers to you, “Knee to the balls. Not letting him think clearly.”

Any other day you might’ve laughed. You pucker your lips, the former wince melding into a frown. “He means what he said. Don’t you, Matt.”

“Open mouth, insert foot.” Matt exhales slowly and leans forward, intent on settling his elbows onto the table. He rethinks the action just after beginning movement and readjusts. After making eye contact he doesn’t break it, allowing himself a rueful smile, “This about Tom leaving in a few days?”

You answer slowly, elongating the middle of the word. “Y-es.”

“Has he said that you’re a pain to live with?” Andrew jumps in with a question that nets him a quick scowl from Matt that he tries to brush off, “Well? Has he?”

Again, you answer slowly. “No…”

Matt shrugs. “He’ll tell you if you’re doing something that bothers him. Do you hesitate to tell him when – I don’t know – does he do anything that drives you crazy? Tell me – us – tell us he has a bad habit. _Please_.” That draws a snort of laughter from Andrew, but he is just as interested in any response you might give to the question as Matt seems to be. “Point is, we are endlessly willing to forgive the faults in those we love.”

“And he loves you.” Not wanting Matt to get the last word Andrew is quick to tack on his own response.

Matt blinks, the action almost a flinch. “Exactly.” He adjusts how he’s sitting again and draws a now cold fry from the plate on the table between the three of you. “Tom loves you.”

They’re doing their best to cheer you, and honestly their combined assurances help, but still your concerns remain. How far can you get on love alone? Just like you’ve been avoiding bringing up potentially problematic things, Tom might be too. With everything else taking the focus of your attention, neither of you have addressed any irksome habits that have come to light while living together.

Why are you assuming the worst? Habit, and a fear of history repeating itself. Just wait until Thanksgiving and the attendance of the family function that he accepted without understanding all that it entailed. Yes, he’d get to meet your mother and stepfather but… oh he’ll run away screaming. Then will come the claim that the time and distance is a good thing. Next will be the assertion that the other holiday plans be scrapped. Other obligations will have arisen.

You settle then and there that the moment you see Tom after you walk in the door tonight you’ll come clean about everything. You’ll open the door and loose everything that you’ve been casting aside for a later date. Let him reveal any habits of yours that annoy him, yes, but also the ones of his that annoy you. No more omissions.

Of course Tom picks that night to sweep you off your feet the moment you step foot over the threshold. Dimmed lighting, wine, some weird jazz music that’s meant to seduce but nearly sends you into a gigglefit when the wrong track starts to play and he jumps to set it to the correct playlist. Tomorrow. Tomorrow will have to do. There’s no way you’re ruining the mood he’s taken such pains to set.

A few days later – a day mid-week in the middle of October – Tom, Bruce, and John all fly out again, back overseas if not to home. All three lament the fact that they’ll miss Andrew’s Halloween party. No need to tease Tom with the fact that there would be a DJ and, according to Andrew, drinks for days. You suspect the trio would have experienced the party in different ways, particularly if John and Bruce went about it in the same fashion as Richard. Sure he was in costume as well, but he kept a vigilant eye on the partygoers and other patrons of the location where it was held.

Drinks for days did mean one hell of a hangover, the start of which you felt even as you were headed home that night. Would you have had as much to drink if Tom had been present? Would you have had more? You could have enjoyed wrapping your arms around him, giggling with him as the pair of you stumbled in the door and pulled off piece after piece of your respective Halloween costumes. Instead you get to do that on your own while trying to maintain a coherent conversation with him on the phone.

No. He would most definitely still be out on the dancefloor, moving to the rhythm of the music. Your head throbs at the thought of being exposed to a minute more of the music that had been so loud as to be felt deep within your chest, Tom’s persuasive hips or no.

“You’re home now?”

“Yep. Mmmhmm. Richard’s all too happy about that. So he can go home and. Yep. All safe ‘n’ sound in here.” You scowl at the kitchen, the room seeming all too far away. Water can be sourced from the sink in the bathroom. You sway on your feet, remembering that you can now free your feet from your heels, and sidestep to lean again the loveseat. “You have fun?”

He’d gone out too. You just can’t remember where he said he went. Out with a few friends. Nothing like the party you’d attended. Shoes abandoned at the loveseat you head for the hallway. Oddly enough you seem to have been able to walk better with them on. Tom’s laugh follows the thump resulting from your collision with the side table. “Enough. You going to be alright?”

“I’d be better if you were here.” You purr the response, unable to catch the words as they occur in your brain and then slip from your lips. You’ve had this conversation how many times in the days leading up to his departure? Every time he brought up flying back just for the Halloween party you’d tried to turn it into a way to talk him out of Thanksgiving. Trade one for the other? Not something that interested him in the slightest.

Tom is quiet for a beat. A forceful breath comes through the line before he speaks. “I could’ve been, but _someone_ kept telling me it didn’t make sense.”

You lean as though that will help to keep you from derailing the conversation. Thankfully there is a wall to keep you from tipping yourself off balance. “Cause it doesn’t make sense!” You’ve made it to the bedroom so you can examine yourself in the floor length mirror. Stupid lacing. As wobbly as you are it’ll take forever to get out of the costume. “Ugh. Tom. I don’t know where to begin to get this thing off.”

“Love to help, darling, but…”

“Shush. I know exactly how you’d help.” You mutter the last bit to yourself as you smirk at your reflection. Having him here would definitely make getting out of the costume easier, and infinitely more fun. “Zipper. Zipper. Wasn’t there a zipper?”

He laughs again, “In the picture you showed me before? Not that I could see… Requires closer examination.”

You’re this close to telling him you’ll bring it with you so he can examine it to his heart’s content over Thanksgiving, but manage to wrangle the comment into submission before it escapes you. Having one of your extended family walking in on _that_ would require more explaining than you could ever manage. They have plenty of stories to share with Tom at your expense without adding anything of that fashion to the mix.

“You’re quiet. Should I let you go so you can concentrate?”

“Mm. No. Unless you’ve somewhere you need to be.”

“Nope.”

You watch yourself in the mirror, watch as the comment escapes your lips, tingling from drink as they are. “I was thinking about something else.”

“Something fun?”

You laugh. “Yes. But not in the way you’re thinking, probably.”

“Try me.”

And so you do. “If I were here and you were there… wait. No. I mean…”


	65. Chapter 65

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Living together for a few months meant discovering all sorts of things about each other that otherwise had gone undiscovered. Trial run at cohabitation survived, it was almost a blessing when work required Tom to return to London again. It gave the pair of you time to regroup, time to miss each other once again… and time for you to figure out how to adequately prepare Tom for Thanksgiving with your family._

 

The month, notable for long days at work and Tom’s absence, passes quickly. Your place that once seemed snug seems too large without Tom sharing the space with you. Of course that won’t matter much longer. After this little stretch of time spent at your mother’s house – assuming you survive it – you’ll begin a several month long span of constant travel. There won’t be time to miss him. You’ll be back to living out of a suitcase, just like before.

For the first time since signing on to take part in Touring Sundays, you’ll be flying home to spend a holiday with the maternal side of the family. Travel never used to give you pause, crowds aside. You were just another traveler. Still are just another traveler, but now you’ve a knot within your ribcage that’s only partially attributed to introducing Tom to additional members of your family.

Your carryon suitcase already sits in the trunk of Richard’s car, the man himself giving you the stink eye for pacing back and forth in the living room and giving him a play by play of Tom’s flight status. Anything for distraction. Richard mostly makes small non-committal noises in response when it becomes clear you’re not really looking for long-winded answers to follow your announcements. Tom is in the air. Still in the air. Shouldn’t you be leaving soon and heading that way? You don’t want Tom to have to sit around the airport by himself, not after the distance he’s traveled so far.

Finally, Richard flags you down, shaking his head at you as he speaks. “Next time, less coffee.”

Less coffee? What is less than none? This is just you and your bundle of nerves regarding the next few hours, and next few days. If Richard’s irritated now he’s not going to like the flight to Madrid. Not one bit. How many hours stuck in a seat beside you?

At least for the trip to Madrid the only thing fueling your nerves will be the workload looming once you land. One trip at a time, though. One trip at a time.

Somewhere within LAX Tom will be waiting for you. There will be a short flight to the regional airport near home, and from there the pair of you will take a rental car and drive the final hour-and-change of the trip to make it your mother’s house. You’ll be with Richard until the security checkpoint, briefly on your own, and then with Tom for the remainder of the trip. Tom will have spent most the day traveling, but try as you might you couldn’t talk him out of the trip. Remembering how nerve wracking it was to meet his entire family, and knowing how exhausting all day travel can be, you’ve made your mother promise for this to be a small get together. Surely that’s not so much to ask.

The airport is packed, much as you’d expect two days before Thanksgiving. A credit to knowing what you can and can’t get away with, you don’t even bother asking Richard to drop you off curbside. That would have been a no-go. Truthfully it’s nice to have him there while you’re confirming gate information… right up until he questions where you’ll be meeting your security escort. Beyond the checkpoint? Before it?

Boom. He’s stumbled onto the small test you’ve set yourself, half the reason your stomach is in knots. You attempt a bright smile, all the while trying to ignore the paparazzi pointing cameras at you. “Its fine, Richard. I’m fine.” From the look on his face he doesn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth. You take a steadying breath and continue with your assurances, spoken both for his benefit, and your own. “Unless, unless they buy a ticket they can’t get beyond the checkpoint…”

Richard’s eyebrows arc up, “So you’re just going to walk through LAX. By yourself.”

“Ah…” There is no answer that will satisfy him. Briefly you consider trying out the excuse that you were planning on using the time with Tom to try to explain – to the best of your ability – what the hell he was getting himself into regarding your family. Or maybe admitting that you’re internally freaking out a little bit but determined to at least _try_.

Richard’s neck is starting to go splotchy but his face remains set in neutral. “Unbelievable.”

Having him start to scold you for it helps to lessen your apprehension. Hurrah for your stubborn streak. You’re doing this. He can hate it all he likes. You keep moving towards the security checkpoint. Even the line for priority screened bags is a few people deep. You half hug Richard, his arms stiff for fuming, before moving beyond where he can follow. “Scold me the entire way to Madrid. I _need_ to do this, Richard.”

Needs and wants fall on deaf ears. Richard harrumphs in response, a speed dialed number entered into his phone and the device held to his ear. He stands there, watching closely as you make your way through the checkpoint, mouth moving quickly as he speaks into the speaker of his mobile. You half expect a member of airport security to appear on the other side, ready and waiting to escort you on to your gate. You wouldn’t have put it past Richard to have gotten on the phone with the appropriate powers that be as soon as you left his side… but evidently he’s still too angry for that to have occurred to him. You wonder for a moment who he’s called.

Five minutes. You give him until he walks back to the car and then you’ll find a message from him on your phone.

Speaking of messages, you slip your phone out of your pocket to pop off a text to Tom to let him know your location.

_At the airport waiting to get through security. See you soon! At the gate?_

He responds quickly, bringing a smile to your lips. Hopefully it means he’s landed, getting ready to disembark, or perhaps even already wandering around somewhere within the airport.

_Can’t wait._

You squint at the screen and the lack of information his text contains, a little bit annoyed. Two words in response? He’s… probably just tired from the flight. Or is he annoyed with you for your persistent requests for updates as to his status? It’s just excitement and nerves on your part. Maybe said excitement is spinning you out a bit. The lack of response is nothing to read into. He’s probably a bundle of nerves at the moment as well, his rooted in reasons different than yours. You blow out a breath. All of it, travel and nerves combined, could have been avoided if he’d waited to talk to you rather than accepting your mother’s invitation for Thanksgiving.

One more text, then… one more to confirm that the pair of you will meet at the departure gate. You’ll have ample time to apologize once you’re face to face again. Make a joke out of it. Make him laugh. Everything will be alright. Only then do you realize you’ve made it to the front of the line. No time to text Tom for having reached the checkpoint while you were lost in thought. Well, shit.

Electronics, bag, and jacket all go onto the conveyer and on you go through the machine. You give Richard one final look as you collect your things, offering him a small wave and getting a sullen nod in return. Are all the men in your life annoyed with you at the moment?

Richard’s no longer on the phone. Had he placed a call to airport security, only to get an answer he didn’t appreciate? You’re sure to hear all about it later. Maybe you’ll keep him updated regarding takeoff and landing, etc and test the depth of his annoyance with you.

First thing’s first. Find Tom. Hear that laugh. Make him smile.

Oh heavens how you live for that smile.

The first coffee shop you pass calls to you, but you soldier on, stubbornly continuing towards the gate where you know – hope – Tom is waiting. You could pause, get the pair of you food and drink. No – you’ll see if he’s hungry after greeting him. Tom first. Wasn’t there something else you needed to do while you waited for the flight? Yes. So much needed to be shared before introducing him to your family. The plan… the plan is to spend a few minutes catching up on things that hadn’t been shared over the phone for one reason or another and then, once making sure the pair of you are in a quiet corner, spilling all the details as to what he’s walking into regarding your family.

_But darling_ – he’ll probably say – _everyone’s family is a little off. But we love them still. That’s what makes them family._

You shake your head, nearly speaking your rueful comment aloud as you continue on with the phantom conversation internally. _If only my family were just a little off, Tom._  It’ll go smoothly, this much needed talk. Not ideal to be having it in such a public place but that’s your own fault for delaying it for so long.

As you continue your approach to the gate the surge of confidence starts to recede again. What if it doesn’t go well? What if someone overhears the conversation and – the planned holiday with the family would turn into a media circus.

Tom is off to the side, leaning against a column rather than being seated amongst the other travelers milling around the closest waiting area to your gate. He’s standing, probably happy to be able to work his muscles a bit after being seated on a plane for so long. Again you feel a surge of guilt for this additional travel he’s taken on.

Though you’d been quick to spot him, it’s clear that he picked you out from the crowd first. He rights himself and returns your smile, but his is tight. The short reply to your excited text upon arriving to the airport flutters to the front of your mind again.

No. No. Stop worrying that Tom is pulling away after such a short span of time spent apart. It was just a month. Less than. Your nerves are just getting the best of you. This is no way to start a holiday. Fuck getting coffee. You need something stronger. It might be quieter seated in the lounge of a bar than in the bustle of commuters trying to make it home for the holidays. A shot will definitely help to get your words flowing.

That plan derails the moment Tom speaks, tipping his head over your shoulder as you get close enough, his eyebrows twitching upwards for a moment, “No Richard.”

His expression isn’t exactly of surprise. He conveys a mix of amusement, concern, and anger, all half hidden behind an amicable exterior. Is this pleasantness an act for the onlookers? _He_ isn’t flanked by security. Well fuck, if he’s going to act, so are you. You force a light laugh as you take the last few steps and hold out your arms for a hug. It’s an action he reciprocates, thankfully. “Nope. No Richard.” You hold the smile as you press your cheek to his chest. This is far from the greeting you’d expected.

Tom wraps his arms around you, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he adjusts to accept your weight against his. The chuckle he expels sounds real enough, and his words, spoken after a moment, ease the tension that you’d been feeling, “How the hell’d you pull that one off?”

This time when you laugh it doesn’t feel forced, nor does the smile. “Oh he’s pouting in the car.”

“A few days to get over it, though.” Tom releases you, adjusting how he has his bag slung over his shoulder. A wordless questions follows, signaled by a tilt of his head. Sit or walk?

You shrug as you counter, whatever suits him will suit you. “Or I’ll suffer for it the entire way to Madrid.”

There’s the smile that lights him from within. Tom shakes his head slowly, running his hand down your arm to interlock your fingers with his. “Or that.”

Just like that the world is righted again.

Once settled in your seats – and a few complimentary bottles of rum consumed – Tom takes your tablet hostage ‘for emails’ and hunches forward in his seat. The intermittent rumbling chuckle is a dead giveaway that he’s abandoned the task of responding to emails in favor of something else. Sans tablet you’re left to try to entertain yourself with the pamphlets in the back of the seat - or maybe one of the magazines kindly left by a previous traveler… and the last of the empty little bottles that the stewardess has yet to retrieve. 

Tom lets loose another chuckle and you release an exasperated huff. Whatever he’s doing to entertain himself can certainly be shared. You twist in your seat to prod him in the side. “Alright. What. What are you doing?” 

“Updating my CV.” He grins as he turns the tablet in his lap to let you examine the screen of the device. “What do you think?” 

You think that he shouldn’t be editing his CV while drinking, and should probably be supervised while doing said edits – particularly by someone who hasn’t also had a drink or two. You scan the words quickly, hemming and humming at a tone slightly different than that of the engines keeping the huge tube of metal airborne. He’s added in the various projects more recently undertaken, edited the wording here and there…

Then you spot it and, without meaning to fuel his antics, let out a laugh. “Oh. Tom. No.” You quickly try to snag the tablet from him, fingers moving to highlight the text that you hope he has more sense than to add to his list of talents. “Gives good pillow? You’re _not_  putting that in there.” 

You may be quick, but Tom is faster. Before you can delete the text he’s reclaimed the tablet. “No? You’re right, darling. Needs to be  _great_  pillow, doesn’t it.” 

You will not tussle with your boyfriend in the first class cabin. You will not tussle with your boyfriend in the first class cabin. Laughing, you sit back in your seat again and loose a word that in previous months would have netted you a sour look from him. “Fine.” You puff out a breath and shake your head, “Whatever. It’s your CV, Hiddleston. You know what? While you’re at it, add in: Great wall. Decent door. Piss poor window.” 

Tom grins at you, triumphant. “You know what, darling? I think I will.” 

And now you’re an accomplice. Spectacular. 

By the time the flight lands you’re feeling steady once more. The little bottle that had lifted your spirits for the flight countered by the meal sourced out after landing, you feel ready to drive the hour and change from the airport to your mother’s house. Passing by the turnoff to go towards the theater you used to haunt, any excuse to delay the inevitable, you float the idea of sightseeing a bit – and calling to tell the family that the pair of you will be spending the night elsewhere.

Tom nixes that, a fresh scowl marring his features.

Another fifteen minutes at most, and the pair of you would have driven up to the house without incident. Clearly while you had been concentrating on the road and telling Tom about locations you were driving past – how they related to your childhood in ways both good and bad – he was mulling over your actions regarding the holiday. “You’ve been against this trip since I relayed the message from your mother.”

“My family is just – complicated.” That’s a sort of answer. If he were to squint at it he might be able to read between the lines, hear the bit that you’re leaving unsaid.

Perceptive as he is, he knows something is amiss. In response to your anxiety over the trip, he’s getting riled up too. “Why don’t you want me to meet the rest of your family?”

You groan, the sound not dissimilar from the noise Richard had made in the airport a few hours ago. “It’s not that, Tom. There’s just… drama… Drama that I was hoping to save you from.” You glance aside and try to make a joke out of it. You flash him with a brilliant smile. “For a little while, longer, at least.”

Tom isn’t amused. “Everyone has family drama, darling. Think about when you visited.”

“Meeting your family was …” Focus on the road. Focus on not saying something stupid and making him hate you for it. Fuck this is a horrible time to be having such a conversation. “Ok, it was nerve racking but at least your sisters had _reason_ to hate me.”

Another glance at him shows him pulling a face. “You’re worried they won’t like me?”

If he only knew. This is all your fault for sidestepping the issue, ignoring it just like everyone else in the family. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “No, Tom. God, no. It’s not that.” You need to park the car for this. You need to be able to watch every micro-expression that crosses his features. “Who would hate you?” When you pull up behind all the rest of the cars you’ll be able to concentrate. You’ll be able to stop and gather yourself and put everything into the right order before you lower this last wall.

The number of cars parked in front of the house is a bad sign. So much for the little gathering to celebrate your homecoming – the pre-Thanksgiving celebration that would ease Tom into the crazy that is the maternal side of your family. It looks like the entire family has heard the news that you’ll be home, and with a date, no less. It’s as you’re pulling in the driveway that you see the two vehicles that shouldn’t be there, that are _never_ there when you’re home. Clearly your itinerary wasn’t shared with the entire family.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._ It’s now or never.

Tom’s still stuck trying to figure out your last comment. “Then, Jesus, what? Why are you against us being here?”

“It’s not here that’s the problem, Tom.” You’re staring right at the problem, or rather, problems. The rusted red Chevy pickup parked right next to the white BMW owned by none other than your stepbrothers. You swallow hard and pull the keys from the ignition, clenching them in your fist. “Fuck! Ok. Look. You know my mother remarried.”

Tom is trying to be patient but after spending all day traveling and dealing with your mood swings his level of calm is non-existent. “As did your father. As do most couples that split. What’s your point?”

“I have two stepbrothers.” Two stepbrothers that you’ve kept separate from your life, kept secret from all the world by their insistence. Tom merely blinks at you, absorbing this new bit of information. He seems puzzled. You can practically read the thought on his face. Why didn’t you tell him sooner? Because it isn’t as simple as hidden relatives. “They hate me. And no, I’m not being dramatic. They – they can’t stand me, or my profession. Want nothing to do with any of it – to the point that they avoid family functions when they know I’ll be in attendance.”

The puzzled expression is morphing, Tom’s features changing as he adjusts his view of the woman sharing a rental car with him. Surely he’s endured periods of time where either he couldn’t stand being around his sisters or they couldn’t stand being around him? Not quite the same, but at least he’s programmed to understand the issue, at some level.

You bite your lip, unable to stand the fact that Tom is just sitting there, jaw clenched shut. “But they’re here. That’s their – the truck and the white car there. It’s stupid, but everyone just sort of goes with it. I pretend that I’m still an only child. Mark and Richard help to – well I mean, they have a different last name anyway so technically… It’s just easier. They don’t want me to claim them, don’t want to be pulled into _the lie of my life_ , as they call it so I um, don’t…”

You don’t want to look away from Tom but can’t help it. You can feel the attention of the house. One of the front curtains twitches. They know you’re there. How must it look to them? The pair of you just sitting in the car. Maybe they’ll assume you’re going over last minute details with Tom, just to ensure everything runs smoothly.

Smoothly. Ha. That ship has sailed.

Shame you can’t just pull out of the driveway and drive around until… No, there is no span of time that you can estimate capable of fixing this. Now you’re talking just to disrupt the silence. “Jesus, Tom. Say something.”

Tom shakes his head, just one hard shake, and in that moment you know you’ve fucked up beyond what you’d initially feared. He’s not going to just wave this away with a slight scowl and commiserating series of words. When he speaks his voice is level, but his words are enunciated with such control that you know he’s close to losing his temper. What a way to introduce him to your family. “You have siblings. That you never told me about.”

“I know, Tom. But…”

“You waited until you _had no choice_ but to tell me.”

How have you fucked this up so badly? One little detail. Two step-siblings that refuse to acknowledge you as their sister. They’re not even part of your life! You fight to keep your breathing steady. If Tom can do it, so can you. “I know. I’m _sorry_. But they’re…”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head again, clenching and unclenching his jaw. The corner of his mouth twitches down and then he opens his eyes again. It’s as though he’s hit a reset switch in his head.

“Here’s how it’s going to be. We’re going inside. You’re introducing me to your family. We’re not going to disrupt their holiday with what’s going on between us. But this. We’re not done talking about this.” He waits for your nod of acceptance and then turns, stiffly extracting himself from the car. You remain sitting in the driver’s seat for a moment, watching him stretch and walk around the front of the rental.

Alright. You can do this. Hopefully everyone will be on their best behavior and – maybe by the time the three days are up he’ll have a better understanding regarding the mess that is your relationship with your stepbrothers. Even after exiting the vehicle you’re still watching Tom, trying to gauge just how many times you’re going to have to apologize. Your focus is still on him when the front door opens and your mother calls out a joyous greeting. When Tom responds for the pair of you your heart drops from the place it had lodged in your throat.

Oh no.

_No_.

He’s acting. The first time Tom’s going to meet your mother and he’s going to act his way through it.

 

 


	66. Chapter 66

**Y** ou’re still trying to will yourself to unbuckle and get out of the driver’s seat when Tom slams the passenger side door. It’s jarring enough to make you jump within the confines of your seatbelt. It does get you moving, at least. You gather your purse from the floorboards, testing your limbs as you exit the vehicle. Your knees feel a little weak as you stand and you know it isn’t really the result of the length of time you’ve been sitting. You stare at the house for a moment, wishing you could rewind the past few hours – just far enough back to loose the bombshell that just went off any other place than the driveway of your mother’s house. On second though… a few hours probably wouldn’t help. Maybe a few days would be better.

The backseat to the rental squeaks, pulling your attention from the house. When you sneak a glance at him, Tom is bent retrieving the pair of bags from the back of the car. Regarding first meetings, things are not going well. He met your father just after a confrontation with your then-stalker, and now he is meeting your mother and stepfather while he’s trying to adjust to the fact that you’ve kept yet another secret from him…

Why didn’t you tell him sooner that you had step-siblings that would sooner say down is up and lemons are sweet than claim you as family? What had he said before going silent? Everyone has a bit of drama in their family? Does the term ‘drama’ even apply when someone tells you point blank they don’t want you to acknowledge their existence, that they’ll never acknowledge you?

Family is pouring out of the house at an alarming rate. Your luck, something will be said to cause chaos to erupt out here on the lawn for all the world to see. Your mother and stepfather lead the parade, your stepbrothers Joel and Reggie following close on their father’s heels. You watch them with apprehension, casting out a desperate prayer that they won’t introduce themselves to Tom by saying something asinine. Thankfully the pair veer off towards the cards parked in front of the garage. There, one small breath can be allowed. Other than the stepbrother complication, have you at least listed out a basic family tree for Tom to follow?

Mother. Stepfather. Grandmother… That can hardly account for all the cars out front. Already shell shocked, all you can do is blink when your great-aunt Abby swans out of the house along with the rest. She hasn’t attended a family function in years.

Again you look to Tom. With his own bag thrown over his shoulder, he has your small bag clenched tightly by the handles. It doesn’t escape you that in holding it in his left hand, he’s effectively blocking you from getting too close to him. A high pitched squeal from within the house pulls your attention back to the two story structure. It’s just enough warning to be able to witness a pixie-haired blonde careen out the front door: Joel’s daughter, Katie, who you’ve only seen in photographs.

Joel starts to call her to him but your stepfather talks over him, acting as a magnet for the little blonde. He presses his hand against the back of her head as he speaks to her, his eyes drifting from her to you. “Kate! This is your Aunt. The photos we were looking at this morning?”

They were going through photo albums this morning? She looks unsure for a moment, long enough to make you sure that this is the Thanksgiving that will kill you, but then she grins – dimples blooming in her rounded cheeks – and lurches forward into another sprint. You have time enough to drop your purse from the death grip you have on it and crouch down, plenty of time to catch the little girl in your arms and receive one hell of a hug.

Maybe this Thanksgiving _won’t_ kill you after all. Or rather, it will, but in a good way.

“I just got my hair cut, Auntie.” Katie speaks in a matter-of-fact tone as she pulls away and spins to give you a three-sixty view.

You can’t help but smile at her even as tears start to form in your eyes. It wouldn’t have come as a surprise if she had followed her father’s example in her treatment of you. You were still shy and hiding behind your mother when you were Katie’s age. “I - I love it, Katie. You look very grown up.”

She lights up, turning to face her father and announce triumphantly, “She likes it, Daddy!” It’s not something Joel seems to enjoy hearing.

Tom continues on his path towards the house, stepping from the weather beaten driveway onto the brick path towards the front door. At least he isn’t watching you wipe away tears that are only half of joy. You catch a murmur of greeting, knowing what words are probably being exchanged for the mannerisms being displayed. Short nod. Right hand held out towards your stepfather. Hello and how-do-you-do.

Aunt Abby worms her way between your stepfather and Tom, interrupting whatever conversation they had attempted to startup. “Let me meet Beau! She hasn’t brought anyone home – hasn’t been home – in far too long! Oh he’s tall, honey. Well, turn around. Let me get a look at you!”

Maybe if the rest of the family works their crazy magic he’ll forget that he’s angry with you. If you can keep Tom clear of Joel and Reggie… maybe everything will be ok. Right. And maybe Morgan Freeman will call tomorrow offering to narrate your life.

In your mother’s arms, briefly accepting her hug, you hear her murmur, “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. Have a nice flight?”

The flight? Yes. That went well. Thank goodness she hadn’t asked about the drive from the airport or you might’ve burst into tears there on the front walk. This time when you sneak a glance at Tom you find him watching you, smile fractured. You look away from him so you can reply to your mother without your voice cracking. You have to swallow twice as you follow your mother into the house, then you can finally answer. “Yes. Very glad to be grounded again, though.”

From somewhere behind you, you hear Reggie snicker under his breath, “Sure. Like she knows the meaning of the word.”

It’s just the start of the thousand cuts the pair of them plan to deliver during the shared time under the same roof. To your credit, you don’t turn around to allow them the satisfaction of seeing the effect of their words. The message hadn’t missed Tom’s hawk like hearing despite being so many bodies removed. His gaze sweeps over his shoulder, pausing on you as he seeks out the source of the comment. The furrow between Tom’s brows only lasts a moment and then your stepfather claps him on the back, drawing his attention once more.  

Family members emerge from other rooms in order to be included in this moment of greeting. Cousins twice and three times removed, and their children. So much for a quiet holiday. Despite the crowd your heart starts to lift. With so many people around it’ll be easy to keep Tom separated from your stepbrothers. Everyone won’t be able to fit into the same room when it comes time to eat, and hell, with this crowd you’ll not hear half the barbs aimed at you. There are simply too many conversations going on at once to keep track of everything.

Your mother rubs her hand over the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing her fingertips lightly into your spine. “Honey, why don’t you show Tom where to put the bags? There’s some time before dinner if you want to rest?” She smiles and pauses a moment, probably considering how unlikely it is that anyone would be able to rest while so many people are thumping around the house. “Or just come back down and save me from your gran?”

Whether she thinks the undercurrent of tension you’re exuding is the result of the presence of your brothers, or if she’s guessed that something is amiss between you and Tom, it doesn’t matter. She’s providing you with an opportunity.

Still a few paces further into the house than you are, and stuck in the middle of a conversation between your stepfather and great-aunt, you step forward to touch the back of Tom’s arm, hoping he doesn’t flinch away with the contact. “Tom? Bags?” When he turns you tilt your head towards the stairs to indicate direction and hope that when you lead the way, he’ll be on your heels.

Two sets of footsteps on the stairs, creaking and groaning as you shift your weight, offers a glimmer of comfort. At least he’s following you. But in the car he did say he wanted to keep from ruining the holiday for everyone. You wait until you turn at the top of the stairs to start to try to say something, anything, but you think better of it the moment you look at his face. With your family safely at his back the happy-calm façade is gone, in its place sits a troubled expression that doesn’t fade when his eyes flick up to meet yours. The eye contact only lasts a second before he drops his gaze down to watch the placement of his feet on the stairs again.  

The silence between the pair of you extends beyond entering the first bedroom on the right. This was the goal. Showing where to stow the bags. Not knowing what else to do you walk a few paces into the room and stop, turning to watch Tom set your bag down on the cedar chest at the baseboard of the bed.

Another attempt at apologizing can’t hurt. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

There is a roar from downstairs. Someone’s team is winning… or losing… He knows you’re watching him, staring at his profile, but he won’t turn to face you, won’t look up from the cedar chest. Slowly he slides his own bag off his shoulder and drops it onto the wooden surface next to yours. “You said that.”

“And I _meant_ it.” Should you take a step towards him or stay this safe distance away? Though outwardly calm, you know he’s angry. When you were sitting so close to him in the car you could see the flash in his eyes. Even now his jaw is twitching, the muscle bunching as he grinds his teeth. Maybe it is better that he’s refusing to look at you. “Then, and now.”

“Now.” Tom exhales a short puff of breath and shakes his head. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“No?”

“No.”

What the fuck does he mean – **NO**. In the mix of all the other emotions currently running amok within you, irritation starts to win for control. “Well when might suit you? I’m _trying_ to _apologize_!”

Your irritation has lifted the level of your voice, but Tom’s reply is still low, offered up with a twitch that might be interpreted as a shrug, and still – still, damn him, spoken to the pair of bags. “I’m not ready to hear it.” He finally lifts his head, turning to look at you as another swelling of noise – laughter and chatter from downstairs – comes through the floorboards. “As for when?” He points towards the floor and shakes his head, his voice raising a notch, “How about when every other word we say isn’t easily overheard by half your family?! I told you in the car, we are _not_ going to disrupt their holiday with what’s going on between us.”

“So what, then? _Lie_ to them?” You shake your head, not bothering to push back against the tightness in your chest. The pendulum has swung again regarding the fate of this brief Thanksgiving break with your family. It definitely might be the one that kills you. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? You’ve been lying to me… Just use your favorite word – tell them we’re _fine_.”

He doesn’t really want you to lie to your family, that’s not who he is. At the moment he’s just angry, justifiably angry. Knowing that doesn’t take the sting from his words.

Someone downstairs is calling your name. You ignore the summons, but for the life of you, you can’t figure out how to respond to Tom. Your favorite word. Just explain the situation using your favorite word. It’s a loaded statement from him. _Fine._ It is your way of shoving something aside, of keeping your walls up. Telling you to cling to it is practically a slap to the face.

“Fine.” Slap for slap, you keep your eyes carefully averted as you reply. You can imagine the way his facial muscles twitch in response and then fall back into the tormented expression he’d worn upon walking up the stairs. And then, in a blink, that look probably fades as well. He’ll adopt the same restrained expression you now plaster onto your face. **ALL IS WELL. LOOK AT US. WE ARE JUST TWO HAPPY PEOPLE ENJOYING A HOLIDAY.**

You force a smile, hoping that it will stick before you make it all the way down the stairs. You pause to make eye contact only long enough to get the words out: “Bathroom is two doors down, if you need it. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

You consider darting down to the hallway bathroom, yourself, just to get a quick glance in the mirror. But… no. You can guess what you look like well enough. Doesn’t much matter to the people downstairs at any rate. Either they attribute your appearance to a day spent traveling, or they simply don’t care about your appearance one way or another. Family, most family, loves you – lumps and all. Even if you look – and feel – like hell.

Good natured ribbing regarding how long it takes to stow bags greets you as you come down the stairs. Pausing as you reach the bottom, you try not to flinch. You’re an actress. You can keep this weak smile in place, force it to be brighter. You can do this. Footsteps from above tell you Tom is already making his way towards the top of the stairs, and you lift your eyes to focus on the ceiling for a moment.

Since when has your house become a stage? “Yes… well…” When you drop your gaze, and your eyes lock with Reggie’s for a moment. When given the freedom to do so, your stepbrothers kept well away from you. All the better for family functions, honestly. When forced, though, hostility inevitably ensued.

Staring at Reggie isn’t the best idea when you’re trying to fake happiness. You wordlessly voice a plea: _Please don’t make this visit a problem_. His unmasked dislike makes you falter further before you blink and look away. Right. Acting like everything is fine isn’t necessarily something new. You’ve had practice.

Aware of Tom’s descent down the stairs – there is no such thing as sneaking through the house these days – you dislodge yourself from your spot on the floor. Intent on giving Reggie a wide berth, you slip to your left to take the long way towards the kitchen.

That’s the good thing about the design of this place – there’s more than one way into and out of a room. Always an exit. But Joel stands in the hallway, blocking your path towards the kitchen. Deliberately staged to ambush you or no, you’re left with no choice but to shoulder past one of the two, or backtrack completely and attempt to delay the inevitable.

Better to not give them the upper hand. With Tom on your heels there’s always the chance that Joel will back down and let you slip past without remark. Why neither of your stepbrothers could just adopt distance as their method of choice for dealing with you…

“Course you had to come and fuck up the holiday.”

Before you can reply, or even do more than simply wish him to disappear, Katie materializes at your side with a chipper – _auntie_! – escaping her. There goes offering up a curse word or two in response to Joel’s sneered words. You offer the little pixie a genuine smile as she bumps into you, and then allow that feeling to put emphasis into the look you give Joel. Kill them with kindness. Killing them with kindness will have to do. “That wasn’t our goal in coming. Excuse us.”

Katie slips past him easily enough, but he doesn’t budge his stance, forcing you to shoulder past him in order to get by. Joel has no choice but to shift after bumping into you, but it does provide Tom with a little more space to bypass your stepbrother. You catch the look of contempt they exchange, Joel’s expression not much different from the look of thinly veiled distaste that tends to color his features when he looks at you. A surge of indignation rolls through you, and you nearly stop to try to say something to draw Joel’s attention again. Katie, unaware of the tension, has latched onto your hand and is pulling you further away from the pair. Fuck! Joel and Reggie can treat you however they want, but Tom is a guest here!

“Tom – come on. I bet Katie knows where the cookie stash is.” Your announcement inspires a little hop of affirmation from the pixie holding your hand. To your relief Tom follows, rather than standing his ground against your stepbrother.

Once in the kitchen Katie releases you, likely on the hunt for the cookies you mentioned. Tom steps close, pressing his hand flat over your back for a moment as he leans to murmur into your ear. To everyone else it might be thought a tender moment shared between lovers. Appearances can be deceiving.

The pressure of his hand on your back only lasts a moment, long enough for him to comment and then step away, engaging with your grandmother, mother, and great-aunt. “You shouldn’t put up with that.”

You stare at Tom’s back, doing your best not to make a face at him. Oh you shouldn’t, should you? No. Fucking. Shit. The next time you have a moment you make a mental note to ask him just _how_ he thinks you should handle the situation… What can Mister Perfect suggest as a way to handle two family members wishing you ill and doing their best to make you miserable?

You need a distraction, a strong one, and you need it now. You lift your eyes from your still-impossibly-put-together boyfriend to let your focus flit across the kitchen. Looking at the cabinetry sends an unexpected wave of emotion rolling through you. Your father’s handiwork, a testament to the years your parents spent together before calling it quits. All the remodeling that your mother has done and this one feature of the house has remained unchanged.

“Here, child.” Aunt Abby pushes a chilled drink into your hands.

Hard liquor. Thank heavens for Aunt Abby. She gives you a wink and watches as you take the first sip. She’s gone for the good stuff rather than suffer through the watered down beer that your stepfather favors.

“He’ll come around.”  

“Hmm? Who?” You try to play dumb, but your eyes drift over to the corner where Tom stands with your mother.

Abby inclines her head knowingly, her smile growing wider as you try to refocus on her. She knows. How she always knows, you’ll never be able to guess. “Beau. He’ll come around. They always do.”

You snort, looking down into your drink. “You don’t know what I’ve done. All that I’ve put him through.” Family members keep drifting in and out of the kitchen. Your mother hasn’t locked it down yet in prep for dinner, or maybe she’s too distracted trying to learn as much about Tom as she can while she has him in her presence. Somehow your drink is already half gone, and with it the irritation over Tom’s passing comment. It’s less irritation with him and more irritation with yourself, anyway. Anger actually. Pure anger over the fact that you’ve let him down again. He deserves more. He deserves better.

“I can see you love him.” Your great aunt is still standing there beside you, one arm propped against the countertop. “And if he’s half as stubborn as you that will be enough.”

You’d like to be able to nod and accept Abby’s faith that love will win out – that Tom’s fury over your omission of your family drama will lessen, that he will once again forgive you, that she’s right and your love for one another will be enough to get the pair of you through this. What has you worried is the thought that it won’t.


	67. Chapter 67

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: This is a typical holiday homecoming, save for one thing: your relationship with Tom is crumbling before your eyes. Could you blame it on the mess that of your relationship with your stepsiblings that Tom is having the pleasure of witnessing firsthand? Dysfunctional doesn’t begin to cover it, but no. This is all on you and your insistence on compartmentalizing and ignoring painful things. Worse, it had been news that had blindsided him – in the driveway before your mother’s house.

**T** hroughout dinner your stepbrothers are relentless in making it clear that your presence is unwelcome. The swapping of stories across the dinner table is hardly enough to keep the nettle-filled comments from affecting you. As bad as it is to weather, watching the effect it has on Tom is worse. He’s putting on a show for the others but the pulsing at his temples is a dead giveaway that he’s grinding his teeth. Between that and the way he is licking his lips… for brief moments in time looking as though he’s tempted to bite through the tender flesh…

You need to find a way to get the pair of you away from the group and alleviate some of the tension. Being preoccupied with that goal is enough to keep your mind off the wounds Reggie and Joel are trying to inflict. Maybe if Tom knew that your relationship with your stepbrothers wasn’t always this complicated? Might that help?

In the early years, when your mother and stepfather had started seeing each other, and even in the first year or two of their marriage, Reggie and Joel were welcoming of their new sibling. It wasn’t until you were able to rely on acting as a career, give up the side jobs and focus on the stage full time that things started to devolve. Somehow that small change had been enough to no longer be able to claim you as ‘normal’ or ‘one of us’.

On second thought, explaining all that to him might not change things for the better. Not at all.

Soon after the dishes are cleared Joel announces that it is time to head home for the day, launching Katie into a full-fledged fit. He seems unfazed by her demands to stay, her mother leaning close to try to convince the little blonde to listen. It’s when she latches onto the leg of the dining room table, wrapping her arms and legs around the wooden thing that you decide to duck out of the room and leave the warring family to it.

Katie’s insistent screams can be heard throughout the house, no matter how many doors are shut between. “I. WANT. TO. STAY. HERE. AT. GRANNIE’S!”

Joel seems to be having no better luck reasoning with her, her mother having given up twenty minutes prior. His tone is becoming increasingly colder as his patience wears thin. “There is nowhere ready for you to sleep, Kathryn Mackenzie.”

“I WILL – BUILD A FORT IN THE BLUE ROOM!”

The blue room, which used to be your room before your mother turned it into her home office. You pause lifting your sleep shirt out of your travel bag and stare at the wall across the room, as though you can see through the thing and into the room beyond. Slightly larger than the room you’re currently in, the blue room – aptly named for the color of its walls – had been your haven from bickering parents, bad days at school, and all the horrible things that could assail an individual as they grew older. You had also worn the carpet thin for pacing out scenes, and more than once splaying out all your schoolbooks in an attempt to learn by osmosis.

“Let go. Get up. We are leaving.”

“NoooooOOOOO.”

Katie’s howl momentarily gets louder as the door to the guestroom opens and Tom steps inside. You attempt a smile, hoping humor might help. “So about our quiet holiday…”

He nearly laughs. Nearly. His cheeks move, at any rate, and in combination with a huff that visibly shifts his shoulders. It could be another swallowing of words rather than a response to your comment but you’re trying to be hopeful. Try to think positive as hard as you like, the fact that he’s not his usual cheerful self at the moment leaves your muscles tense in apprehension of the moment when he finally does tell you what is on his mind.

“She might calm down if you went down and talked to her.” His face is closed off, no hints to glean from his expression when you look at his face. He ducks his chin, a short nod to you before turning his attention to his duffle and clothing packed within. “Maybe even help things between you and her father.”

You worry at your lower lip. He’s not wrong, but he’s so very wrong. Katie might indeed calm down, she seems quite smitten with the aunt she’s never met before, but that would only make things worse between you and Joel. Stepping in and getting his daughter to listen when he couldn’t make her see reason? Realizing you have your sleep shirt crumpled between your hands you drop it back into your open bag and shift your feet, turning towards the door. “Joel and I…”

“Help or don’t.” Tom has seated himself, his trousers halfway removed. When you look over your shoulder at him he shakes his head at you. “We don’t need to discuss it.”

Blinking once. Twice. Your mouth finally forms a word, his name. “Tom.”

He repeats himself, adamant. “Help. Or don’t.”

Well when he puts it that way… You furrow your eyebrows together and turn away from him. You’ve always dealt with fun-loving, in-love-with-you Tom. Is this change in behavior the way he is telling you without speaking the words that the connection between the pair of you is broken? “Fine.” You wince at the door with the utterance of the word. Fuck your mouth and your brain for constantly letting that damn word leave your lips. Without glancing back to see the effect of your stupidity, you leave the room.

Tom is right. Of course he’s right. All it takes is your appearance in the room to get her to lower the volume of her protestations. Out of the corner of your eye you note that your stepfather has already begun appropriating pillows in preparation for the fort, your silent green-light for coaxing your niece from beneath the dining room table. Her face is splotchy and tear streaked, and Joel is bright red – though while hers starts to normalize, his gains in strength.

You kneel down, not quite ready to get too close just in case she starts screaming again. If you could hear her loud and clear while _upstairs_ , goodness knows your eardrums will not thank you for proximity to the source now. “Katie? Sweetie?” She sniffles in response, quite intent on your progress in the room. Damn. Looks like you’re getting under the table. “One more sleep and its Turkey Day, right? We’ll all be here together again tomorrow.”

“I want to sleep _here_.”

She’s not letting it go, the idea of staying here, nor the leg of the table. You side-eye Joel, who is standing towards the edge of the room with his arms crossed. “Your daddy was right, though. All the beds are taken.” You rush through your words as she huffs in preparation for crying again. “But I think I saw your grandpa with some big cushions. Maybe he liked your fort idea?”

“Really?!” Her eyes widen and she almost forgets to maintain her grip on the table leg. If she releases it too soon, you have this sneaking suspicion that Joel will scoop her up and carry her off, screaming child or no. As though reading the thought from your face she hunkers down again. “But… can’t I sleep with you?”

That won’t make sleeping tonight awkward at all. You lift your eyes to look at the underside of the table, wondering what Tom is up to at the moment while you sit down here trying to reason with Katie. Smiling, you shake your head, “No. My bed is already full.” She seems immediately crestfallen upon hearing the news, so you add to your statement, “But I’ll help you with your fort. Ok?”

Not entirely happy, she struggles to figure out what face to make. Smile? Frown? She’s worn herself to the point of it not mattering too much either way. Smarter than to crawl out from under the table close to her father, she releases her grip and scrambles across the floor, bee-lining for the opposite side of the room. “Goodnight Daddy!”

Katie is out of the room, quickly to the stairs by the sounds echoing through the house, long before Joel can take more than two steps from where he had settled near one of the room’s exits. While you extract yourself, coming to stand near your stepbrother, you listen to her progress up the stairs. Joel shakes his head ruefully, issuing a belated goodnight in reply, and then turns his attention on the only other occupant of the room – you. His comment comes of the heels of a sigh. “Why can’t you just stay in la-la land?”

He might mean L.A. He might just be annoyed that his daughter listened to a relative she only just met rather than her father. You pinch the bridge of your nose, nearly rolling your eyes at him. Too hard to say thank you, apparently. “You know what Joel, you’re _welcome_. Your daughter is no longer screaming in your father’s house.”

“I didn’t ask you to butt in.”

Snarky reply almost formed, you’re saved from your own ill-thought-out comment by your stepfather appearing in the doorway with an armload of blankets. “No, you didn’t. But I’m glad that she did. Joel, say goodnight to your sister. She’s needed upstairs.” Transferring the armload of blankets to you as you pass, he offers you a brief thanks, but doesn’t remove his frown from his son.

You make a hasty exit. Whatever else might need be said between them, while perhaps cathartic in the moment, would surely be something Joel would punish you for further in the future.

By the time the fort is complete you’re more than ready to curl up alongside Katie and wait for daylight, but the promise of a soft bed, and Tom, keeps you moving. Maybe being alone with his thoughts will have helped his mood. Maybe rather than waiting for you to come to bed the light is already off when you approach the doorway, and you are forced to rely on ambient light while snagging your sleep clothes from your bag.

When you slip under the covers next to him he doesn’t reach out to pull you to him, or even establish a link between the pair of you even though he’s stretched out on his back. There’s always the possibility that he’s asleep, so deep in his REM cycle that he isn’t aware that you’ve joined him – which would be a lovely lie to believe, except you can tell from his breathing that he’s awake.

Sleep won’t come, so it’s a continuous cycle of questions until exhaustion pulls you under. Tom wouldn’t hear you before. The apologies weren’t adequate. Any start to the conversation was shot down. How do you begin to make this right? Where do you start? You listen to his steady inhalation and exhalation of breath, counting out the ways you’ve fucked up the relationship – how you’ve managed to make the pair of you absolutely miserable when in one another’s company.

The rest of the house may have settled but you stare at the muted tones of the ceiling and fight against tears. You close your eyes, thinking that might be better than memorizing the shape of the dome light hanging from the ceiling, and feel one salty drop escape and roll down the side of your face, dripping and pooling into your ear. You take a breath and speak into the darkness, quietly giving voice to the last question you ever thought you’d ask him. “Tom, are we going to be ok?”  

His answer is slow, given as you feel a shift to the mattress that tells you he is adjusting how he reclines in the bed beside you. “I don’t know.” It had taken him long enough to answer, his voice rasping, to make you think that he’d managed to lightly drift off. Damn him if he was able to even get a wink of sleep.

Has he now rolled up onto his side to view the effect of his words? Or has he rolled to face the other direction? You can’t bring yourself to look away from the ceiling to find out. Another few tears escape you as you close your eyes again, doing everything you can to keep yourself from completely losing it here in your mother’s house, in bed beside the man you love. When it comes to relationships it always seems to come to this – struggling to allow them to get close only to ultimately have them decide the flaws they find are things they cannot live with.

You reach up to swipe your face free of tears, or at least dry this first round, and find your fingers colliding with Tom’s. You swat his hand away, struggling to sit up in the same motion, your nose already starting to stuff as the result of your rush of emotion that your voice sounds muddled. “God. I’m sorry, Tom. For all of it.”

He doesn’t dismiss your apology this time, but doesn’t acknowledge it, either. Miserable as you are, you’ll only spend the rest of the night tossing and turning. You move to get out of bed but you feel his hand come into contact with your back, “Where are you going?”

Isn’t that obvious? You purse your lips, still trying to contain the tears that keep escaping you, “Down… downstairs?“ You don’t know where, really. The kitchen? To wander attempt to quietly wander the living room? It’s too cold to venture outside… at least not without digging a jacket and scarf from among your things. Somewhere else, anywhere other than remaining in the bedroom.

He’s sitting up now, too, his silhouette seemingly backlit by the small bit of ambient light easing into the room through the drawn shades at the window. Through your change in position the light weight of his hand on your back has slipped down to hover at your hip. He exhales, his hand shifting up, the pressure now resting at the edge of your ribcage. “Is it that bad laying here beside me?”

The simplest answer – _yes_ – refuses to be voiced. He just admitted that he is no longer sure of you, of the relationship between the pair of you. Is he really asking if how bad it hurts? You swallow, dislodging the lump trying to block your ability to speak. You shake your head, your whole body shuddering with the motion, shaking loose the tenuous point of contact that he had created. “When we’re not talking? Not touching? Tom, you can barely look at me without looking like it physically pains you.” _And it’s killing me_ – you silently tack on another thought as you double over and press your chest to your knees, hoping to alleviate the ache you’re feeling by applying an outside source of pressure.

“And going downstairs does what? Does one floor, one room, one more inch of space make a difference?”

Is he trying to make things worse or is he calling you out for your tendency to pull away from him? You’d like to believe it’s the latter of the two, but in your current state it is hard to trust your judgement. Straightening your spine you rotate your body, turning your back on the door so that you can – roughly – face him. “No.”


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Dealing with the step-siblings from hell is easy when you only have them to worry about. It’s never fun, but it’s always survivable. But while your focus is being split, their barbs reach deeper. The wounds they inflict sinking further into you than normal. What has you distracted from defending yourself against your step-brothers? The anger radiating from your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, Tom._

**H** is question: _Does one more floor, one room, one more inch of space make a difference?_

Your answer: _No._

No, it might not make any difference because you’ll be miserable, but you can’t stand the distance between the pair of you despite being inches apart. So when your choices are be miserable together or face your misery alone, you opt for the ways of the past. Time to retreat and find strength within yourself.

Ever since finding out that you were still holding back, still keeping secrets, he’s made it absolutely clear that he’s unhappy in your presence. Considering that, how can he possibly ask you if you’re _really_ going to sleep elsewhere? What choice do you have? Besides, if he was so concerned with the perceived space between the pair of you maybe he shouldn’t have been giving you the cold shoulder all day.

You stand in the hallway after quietly closing the door. Only the usual noises of a settling house reach your ears. What you _don’t_ hear is movement from the room at your back, nor a soft calling of your name. He isn’t coming after you. Not coming to stop you. Well, if he’s not interested in trying to reestablish the fractured link it’s only proof that deciding to sleep elsewhere is a good plan. You’ll only keep trying to startup a stream of apologies – sleepless as your night is doomed to be – and he’s still in a state of refusing to listen.

And when will that finally end? When will he finally welcome the first of what will be many earnest apologies?

Lord only knows.

He’s not sure about the relationship anymore. That’s something that hurts more than his cold shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut, not that it does any good when remembering the hesitance in his answer when you were finally brave enough to ask if the pair of you would be ok…. Muscle memory turns you towards your old room, your old sanctuary, now containing Katie’s fort. No. You can’t go there. You’re in no state to entertain your niece if she wakes from your restlessness.

It means, of course, that you’ll greet the morning with a groan. Sleeping on the downstairs sofa never used to bother you but the amount of tension you can’t seem to shake from your body will amplify the lack of support of the well-worn cushions.

You try listening to the faintly familiar sounds of the house, the hum of white noise that once held the power to lull you into dreamland, but sleep will not come. Counting sheep has never worked. Counting in general – someone once told you something about mentally counting down while picturing yourself descending a staircase – always makes you more focused, rather than less. Every time you finally manage to relax your shoulders you realize you’re clenching your jaw again, or vice versa.

Quietly stretching doesn’t work either. Your muscles refuse to cooperate, to the point that the tendons in the arch of your foot contract and send shooting pains up your leg. Eyes watering, you give up, doing your best to massage out the cramp and let the minutes slip by seemingly at a snail’s pace.

In the morning, body as sore as your heart, you’re slow to sit up on the sofa in your quilt cocoon. The lack of movement echoing around the rest of the house tells you that it is very early. Being a holiday, nobody is up and out of bed yet. Not surprising. Those that can sleep – and sleep in – are.

Unwilling to abandon the warmth of the quilt, you keep it wrapped around your shoulders, intent on forcing your body and brain into cooperate a wakeful state by getting as much caffeine into you as you can.

The smell of coffee will probably lure other early risers downstairs. You set out a series of mugs, those favored by Aunt Abby, your mother, and stepfather, as well as – you pause to consider the two mugs you have left in your hands. Will Tom venture down on his own or will you have to go get him? He might want to start the day off with words spoken in private…

There’s a small, much needed, wisp of hope that begins to stir within you. Maybe now with the light of a new day – a holiday no less – he’ll let you begin to mend the damage you’ve inflicted. And with your aired apologies maybe he’ll add in a few of his own.

It’s a lot of maybes…. But… You lift your head, glancing up at the ceiling in the general vicinity of the guestroom, another feeling beginning to overrule the urge to withdraw and nurse your wounds in private. How would he react if you just pulled him into a hug? You don’t have to wait for him to begin to bridge the chasm.

By the time there is enough coffee in the carafe to fill two of the mugs lining the counter you can hear the creak and shift of movement from above. Armed with a surge of hope you pause to replace the quilt on the back of the sofa before slipping upstairs, not wanting to allow anyone to distract you from your goal.

You pause in the hall bathroom and give yourself a once over. Tossing and turning on the sofa has left your hair wild and your features sunken with exhaustion. A bit of water from the tap helps to tame your locks… but _damn_ as to the rest. There’s not much to be done until you can get at your makeup bag. And your toothbrush and toothpaste are in the guestroom, as well. Washing your mouth out with water and another healthy gulp of coffee doesn’t quite suffice but it’ll have to do.

Tom is awake, his body turned to partially face the door as he sits on the bed. He’s up, but the way he looks at you after you struggle to shut the door without sloshing coffee onto your mother’s carpeting depletes every ounce of confidence that you’d built up since waking.

“Coffee?” Your voice sounds meager, adrift, just like you. He’ll probably be wanting more than just a caffeine spike, but this is all that you’d carried up. Breakfast will be underway soon. Maybe you should have scooped up one of the pumpkin muffins, too…

He shakes his head even though he accepts the offered mug. It’s then that you realize he’s not barefoot and in his pyjamas, but dressed and wearing sneakers – and his bag is no longer sitting next to yours at the foot of the bed but tucked neatly against the wall near your feet. It looks as though he’s been up awhile.

The acidic taste of coffee burns in your throat and your nearly empty stomach does a somersault. “Tom?”

“Let’s go for a run.”

So focused on loosing as many apologies as you possibly can, and which would be most beneficial to air first, you puzzle at his request, quickly depositing your mug onto the dresser-top. “Run? Right now?” As Tom stands and stretches you swallow, trying to wash the leftover taste of coffee from your mouth. “Um. Don’t you want to talk? Or eat, first?”

Again he gives you that short shake of his head that sends your heart spiraling within your chest. Grumpy, angry, closed off Tom is a version that leaves you off balance. “I need to move. I need to think.”

He needs to think? You did nothing but think all night. Think and stare into the shadows of your childhood home. And listen to cold accusations from your inner self. Maybe he has the right idea. A bit of exercise might do the both of you some good. Release some endorphins. Get away from the house and the family. It’ll certainly help to stretch your protesting muscles and joints, and maybe Tom will be more willing to hear you out when it is truly just the pair of you. Hadn’t that been his protestation yesterday? The potential for eavesdropping.

“Alright.” You clear your throat after you reply and wipe your damp palms on your shirttail. While your mouth has gone dry, your hands have gone clammy. Tom doesn’t quite smile after your answer, but you can see his shoulders lower as some small bit of tension releases. Was he worried that you would tell him to go it alone? You would never. He’s not from around here and though he has his mobile, the GPS isn’t always reliable. Unlike the larger cities, this rural area isn’t as thoroughly mapped out.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.”

He’s out of the room before you have a chance to respond. That is for the better. Maybe. A memory shoves its way forward as you quickly change from rumpled sleep clothes into something suitable for a run in the chilly morning air: speedily changing costumes behind the scenes in order to make it back onstage on cue. Being home is making the memories of working in the theater come to mind more frequently.

All this mess, everything that has happened to you over the past year was a direct result of your choice to follow your passion. You could have ignored the urge to be on stage… majored in history, or finance, or turned your attention to local politics. That wouldn’t change your tendency to compartmentalize your life. You would still be facing the same issues regarding relationships. Maybe not with Tom….

You glance down at his neatly packed bag, stuffing your belongings into your own and making a face at the way yours bulges in comparison to the neat lines offered by his. When had everything become so messy? So complicated?

Aunt Abby is the only one downstairs to nod acknowledgement that you and Tom are leaving the house. That’s a small blessing. There would be a thousand questions and speculative looks exchanged if it were any other member of the family.

You lick your lips, bouncing up onto your toes to fight against the chill and shake off the lingering ache. It’ll be an entirely different burn to your muscles that you’ll be feeling here shortly. “Um. So. Quick route? Or are we going for distance?” In so many words trying to figure out if he’s needing a quick pick me up or if he wants to get away from the house so he can truly speak his mind.

Tom swallows, frowning as he replies, squinting into the sunlight. “Distance.”

_Fuck._

Gradually the chill becomes less noticeable, the silence between the pair of you something familiar because it’s hard to hold a conversation and run at the same time. Jog, yes, but _run_? The urge to start apologizing, start up a conversation, any conversation, lessens too. Have you asked him to delve into every dark corner and reveal everything to you? It’s only by chance, or the guiding influence of Mark, that the public has remained unaware of the step-sibling situation. You make a mental note to ask Mark that uncomfortable question the next time you see him. Has he been meddling?

Now the pair of you are running at an almost uncomfortable pace. Even on the mostly even surface of backroads and well-travelled paths, this is excessive. Like hell will you be the first to stop. But then, Tom won’t have any choice but to stop if you do, since he isn’t familiar with the area. If you decide to wordlessly turn back and leave him to complete his mentally allotted ‘distance’ he could just keep running and then backtrack. It’s a thought but not something you’re willing to entertain. Yet.

“Wha…” Tom grunts and slows his pace, coming to a halt within five steps. “What are we doing?”

It takes you a few steps more to slow down and turnabout, muttering your answer as you approach him again. “Running from our problems, apparently.”

“What?” His annoyance and the frown that continues to mar his features only draws a similar spike in emotions from you. It takes all the willpower you have, but you manage to keep your mouth shut. Tom shakes his head, wiping a trail of sweat from the side of his neck before it can finish playing connect the dots from his hairline to the collar of his shirt. “If that’s what you think we’re doing, running from our problems, it makes sense you’re sprinting.”

Willpower gone, the words are out almost as soon as he stops talking. “If you heard me, why did you ask me what I said?” While he is standing there, chest heaving as he catches his breath, you can’t find it in you to become immobile. “And what do you mean it makes sense I’m sprinting?”

“Do you even remember the promise you made me? After last year’s convention?”

You stare at him, thinking furiously as you try to follow his train of thought. The convention? When he’d chased you down? More running. Is it the motion or emotion he’s trying to call up?

“You promised you’d never push me away again.” Tom has rooted himself to the spot, his feet planted in the confident-radiating sexuality stance that proves that while you’re antsy, he’s set. He’s got a purpose he’s building towards, a planned-out conversation in his head. This was the reason for the distance from the house.

Maybe it’s his posture that sets you off. Maybe it’s his tone, or the fact that you didn’t sleep hardly at all last night. Maybe it’s just that the first thing he seems willing to allow in terms of conversation between the pair of you is an accusation…. Or maybe it’s that ever since pulling in the driveway to your mother’s house you’ve been playing defense – with him, with your step-siblings, against yourself. While he had clearly spent last night planning out this conversation, you’d spent last night reliving the past few months, internally pointing out all the opportunities you had for telling him about your step-siblings. Anything, virtually anything, would have been better than what you did.

Now would be the perfect moment to launch into apologies, but that’s not the course of action you take. Anger. Anger directed at yourself, but also at him. “And of course, you see this, a family holiday, as pushing you away.”

He jerks his chin, clearly being directed off-track by your comment. He’ll circle back to the planned stream of accusations in due time. For now, he takes advantage of the opening you offered him. “A holiday you didn’t want to attend.”

“With good fucking reason, apparently.” You’re back to muttering and littering curse words into your sentences. Mark would be appalled.

“Just like with your father, I had to be the one to reach out.”

Fresh guilt rises. Tom had indeed been the one to communicate with your family then, too. Even while being stitched up and dealing with much the same emotional symptoms as you, he’d taken time to contact both his family, and yours. You’d only considered calling them later.

“So you’re mad that I didn’t introduce you to my family.” Boiling it down to something simple isn’t the best of plans. It’ll only irritate him further.

“I’m mad that you’ve been lying to me!”

“Lying?!”

“Omitting the truth. That’s a _type_ of lying. And that’s not the way you treat someone you love. Not someone you’re making plans to spend the rest of your life with. Which makes me think you’re holding back, that you’ve been waiting this entire time.”

Again, there’s that surge of guilt that almost overpowers the frustrated anger that is surging through you. “For _what_ , Tom?”

He waves his arm out, “For an excuse not to. Holding back just enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’ve been acting like this isn’t something that will last. Like you’re looking for a reason to congratulate yourself for surviving after it’s over.”

Ow. No wonder he wanted to go running. No wonder he was keen on getting away from the house and out of earshot. This Tom, angry and tense Tom, is this something close to the man he became when you wouldn’t listen to him before? When you assumed he was cheating and broke off all contact with him? If so, maybe it’s a good thing the pair of you weren’t around each other.

“Congratulate myself?” You snort a short burst of air out of your nose, “God, Tom! What’s left of me that I _haven’t_ shared? What’s left to find out?” You turn away from him, thinking furiously. What else haven’t you shared? Anything? Nothing like the bombshell of news regarding your step-siblings. Nothing that immediately comes to mind, anyway.

The pair of you are talking over one another. This has turned into a fucking mess. “Hey! I’ve ever right to be angry that you thought Mark worthy of knowing about your family, and not me. Not the man trying to figure out where he stands in your future.” Tom tries to step forward and reach out towards you but you avoid his touch.

“ _Of course._ Of course – you’re right. What sense does it make that I tell the man controlling my career?”

“And Richard?”

“My bodyguard?” You scrunch your nose for a moment, “Mark must have told him cause I sure as fuck didn’t.” Even though telling Richard would have made sense. Much like telling Tom would have made sense. But how can you reveal such a thing? It’s not something you reveal in casual conversation. Oh by the way my family hates me?

“What about Matt and Andrew?” Tom pauses, shoulders rigid, “Benedict? Who else did you deem worthy of your secrets?”

You pace away from where he’s rooted himself, then spin on your heel and stalk back. He wants it all. Every last inch of you. Is that something you can give him? Is this why past relationships have failed – because it was something you were unwilling to attempt?

“My secrets? Do you want to know about my first skinned knee or is that detail too inane?” You catch the lightest wince break through the angry mask he’s been wearing. It’s better than the pain you’ve caught in his expression every time you looked at him. A little better, but not by much.

“Don’t make that face. Don’t go to war with me on this.”

Too late, Tom. Much too late for you to honor that request. “Looking for something more painful? How about the first time I saw my parents fighting – not the little tiffs at home but a shouting match in public? That’s a good one. But wait, it happened _in public_. You want something secret—.”

“I want…”  

“No, no. Hang on. Let’s get into the juicy details of meeting the new step-siblings and then being shoved aside. All the shame of my worth being estimated in a glance, and by the sin of my chosen profession being deemed not worth knowing. Not worth being included.”

Knowing better than to try to reach out to you again, Tom folds his arms over his chest. Or maybe he’s just trying to keep his hands warm, now that he pair of you have stopped running. If you weren’t so angry you might be feeling the cold, as well. “That’s _their failing_. Not yours.”

“Maybe it is me. Maybe that’s the reason for all the failed relationships, too.” He has stopped shouting, falling into a quiet anger as he continues to shake his head at you, that makes it worse. If only you could similarly control your emotions. Toss a lid over the fire and smother it. Finally, you loose the S word that you’ve been avoiding, that he has refused to hear. It’s probably – definitely – not in the context he’d like to hear, now or ever. “So I’m sorry if I’m not the person you were expecting me to be. Sorry if you’re now realizing that maybe I’m not the woman you want in your life.”

“When did I say that!? Will you listen to yourself?”

No, because that means allowing heated emotions to cool and making space for logic to regain control again. If you allow that, you’ll probably start crying, and crying in front of him on Thanksgiving morning at your mother’s house is definitely not on your list of things to do. “And _If_ I was sprinting it was only because _you_ were sprinting. So maybe stop accusing me of running from something and spend a little time figuring out what _you’re_ running from.”

“I’m not running from anything! I thought I was running with you. Until I realized that maybe you weren’t running with me. Hence the asking what the fuck we were doing!” He shakes his head, his mouth pressed into a straight line and turns around to face the direction you came from, uncrossing his arms again as a shudder runs through him, “I’m cold. Let’s start back.”

“Fine.” You let him get started, advancing a half dozen paces ahead of you before you force your body into motion again.

You don’t push to catch up, content to watch his back as he leads the way towards your mother’s house. Getting closer might launch the pair of you into another argument that will leave you breathless. It’s emotion that’s leaving you gasping, and the exercise. Not the chill to the air that forces you to push your sleeves back down to cover all but your fingers. You could lie to yourself – something that nearly chokes you when the thought occurs – and tell yourself that it’s the cold that is making your eyes water.

The hem of your shirtsleeves becoming damp only serve to amplify the numbness in your hands. You should have put on more than lightweight running gear. But then you weren’t planning on running so far….

Soon the pair of you will be back to your neighborhood where people will observe the pair of you and inevitably report back to your mother, and it’s getting to be an hour when even those relaxing during a holiday will be up and about. Not that she won’t notice something is wrong when the pair of you get back to the house and carry on like you are, but then couples argue all the time. And she doesn’t appear to be all that concerned, yet. Aunt Abby seems to be the only one recognizing the trouble between you and the man she’s taken to calling Beau.

But then Tom won’t look back to catch your eye. It seems neither party has accomplished anything from venting frustration during the argument. Just like before, you use up all that valuable time trying to work up the nerve to say something to him. Why does it matter so much? What is keeping the words stuck within your chest?

This time, it’s Tom that seems spurred by the sight of the house. As the pair of you make it onto the lawn he slows, finally ducking his head over his shoulder to glance at you as he stumbles to a halt. “It’s a beautiful house.” He looks away from you, back at the place you grew up in. “That hides a multitude of sins.”  

You tug at the edges of your shirtsleeves, trying to draw yours hands further into the material. “What does that even mean, Tom?” Your voice flutters as you look at him, waiting for the reply that you know is coming. He’s ending it. Here, in your mother’s front yard on Thanksgiving morning. All that anger that had raged between the pair of you is gone unlike the words exchanged that have taken up residence within you. “Actually,” you shake your head to stop him from answering, “please. Not today. Not here. Can we just… Just pretend for me, for one more day?”

He’s frowning so hard you briefly wonder if the creases will ever smooth out again. His eyes dart back and forth quickly as he looks down at you, inevitable words making their way from mind to mouth. “No, darling. I can’t.”

So there it is. You ball up your fists and try to hug warmth back into your body. And he wondered why you were trying to beg off attending this family function. You knew what would happen, just like this. As much as he loves you – or maybe it’s better to say, once loved you – it’s not enough to keep him from leaving.

As Tom steps closer you find yourself trying to memorize the scuffs on his shoes, and the way the material of his jogging pants is stuck behind the tongue of his shoe, the way the laces are tucked to keep them from flapping. “I can’t stand by and watch what’s going on. Pretend that everything’s ok.”

You try, and fail, at swallowing the air that seems to have solidified into bricks to keep you from breathing. Had he already made up his mind this morning? His bag had been carefully repacked. This run was just his way of having a few moments with you – just him and you – before he walked out of your life? His shoes are starting to blur. Blinking doesn’t help much, your eyes pool with tears again quickly. You want to whisper another apology – issue one last attempt at reconciliation – but if air can’t move through your throat, words certainly can’t.

“It’s abuse. You see that, right?”

Abuse? What is he – your relationship with him? Abusive? You try to swallow again, looking up with what you know are red-rimmed eyes to blink at him in confusion, not knowing quite what to say. You manage to croak out his name but can’t get much further. Where do you even start? _I never meant to hurt you -_ seems so incredibly inadequate.

The sound of a car door slamming shut makes you jump, and you realize you’ve entirely missed Joel’s red pickup pull into the driveway. He certainly hasn’t missed you and Tom standing awkwardly in the front yard. He has a small bundle of clothes tucked under one arm – Katie’s change of clothes, you assume – but pauses after getting out of the vehicle rather than heading inside to find his daughter.

For the briefest, absurdist of moments, the world turns on its head and you think he’s going to lift his hand in greeting and ask if everything’s ok – approach and offer concern or warm holiday wishes – the normal things that siblings, even step-siblings, do for one another. He clearly sees that something is wrong in the front yard. He’d be blind not to notice.

Tom sidesteps closer, almost as though he wants to move between you and Joel – block Joel’s view of you. There’s the lightest of pressures on your upper arm, and you realize he’s loosely wrapped his fingers around your limb. You nearly give in to the urge to shake him off.

Then Joel calls out across the lawn, slamming you back to reality while simultaneously sending a shudder through you. “Finally realizing the drama queen is only after your name? Get out now, before she pays another ‘stalker’ to come after her.”

“You disgusting piece of…” Tom’s grip on your arm disappears and he’s off across the lawn towards your ex-linebacker step-brother before you can do more than blink and give a short cry of alarm.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Your asshole step-brothers refuse to live and let live when they’re around you, which thankfully isn’t often. Unfortunately Tom accepted the invitation for the pair of you to attend Thanksgiving at your mother’s house, and for whatever reason your step-brothers are in attendance. To say things don’t go well is an understatement._

“ **Y** ou disgusting piece of…..” Tom charges across the lawn towards your step-brother, who adopts a look of self-satisfaction at the rage his comment has elicited and sidesteps to set Katie’s clothes down atop the hood of his car so he can have his hands free. The asshole is _looking_ for a fight – and he’s not one to be satisfied with words for long.

But Tom – Tom won’t fall for it. Surely. Anyway, weren’t the pair of you just arguing? Hasn’t he made it clear he’s done with you? What’s he doing charging your ass of a step-brother?

Your startled yelp turns into a plea, for all the good it does. Tom is already across the lawn. Damn that man’s long legs. “Tom! No!”

“The fuck is wrong with you?! He nearly killed her! Your _sister_!”  

Joel sneers, jerking his chin in your direction as he replies to Tom. “Not by blood. And he missed. So clearly that money was wast—“

You’re only halfway to where they are facing off when the comment seems to visibly hit Tom, spinning his torso towards you so that for a moment he’s almost facing you. Then he clenches his fist and lifts his arm.

You see what’s coming – even if Joel doesn’t. He doesn’t expect it of Tom, an _actor_. Frankly, if you and Tom hadn’t been at each other’s throats all morning the comment might have only netted words in return…. Tom is already beyond the point of being able to contain his temper.

What’s left is to watch, with a mingled sense of horror and pride, as Tom swings his fist – the impact of his knuckles to Joel’s jaw sending your step-brother reeling.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

-

Mid-morning Thanksgiving morning. Even the late risers are awake, though their lazy holiday morning has been interrupted. Your stepfather’s sweet tooth is clear from the half-consumed piece of pumpkin pie. Also clear, from his current mood, is that he’d much rather be enjoying his piece of pie in peace.

You’d enjoy that scenario, too. Of those currently in the kitchen, only your Aunt Abby seems halfway put together. She’s currently occupied with her favorite of the bunch – Beau – leaving you to try to find some way to keep from falling apart at the seams.

Why is it that the entire time Aunt Abby is tending to Tom you can feel his attention firmly on you but every time you look…

“A brawl on my front lawn.” Your stepfather stands midway between Joel and Tom, as though they’ll resume their argument at any moment. You might not put it past Joel, who is glaring openly at Tom from behind the package of peas he has pressed against the left side of his face.

So much had been said – seething words and shouted accusations passing between the two men as the wrestled on the ground. Some things you hadn’t caught, some things you wish you’d missed. Tom had landed a perfect punch but was quickly toppled by Joel. Reggie appeared, popping up from behind you, about the same time your stepfather came running out the front door. It had taken the both of them to pull Tom and Joel apart.

Katie, still in her pyjamas, peeks into the kitchen from the other room where she had been herded by your mother when the men had finally been dragged inside, “It. Was. Awesome!”

“Katie.” Your stepfather shakes his head sharply at her, though his tone lightens as he turns his attention to her for the duration of his admonishment. “We do not encourage fighting in this household.”

Tom lowers his own bag of frozen veggies, making you wince both for his appearance and the anger in his words. His lower lip is already swelling despite the application of first aid. At least the bleeding has stopped. “No, just the emotional abuse of your daughter.”

You miss exactly what Reggie says in response but jump at the bark returned by your stepfather. “Reginald. If you can’t contribute something _positive_ , get – out – of – this – kitchen.”

Reggie stares down his father for a few seconds before obeying the command, storming out of the kitchen through the door that takes him back outside. He stalks down the drive towards his white BMW, the car parked wildly at the end of the driveway. You can only assume the supplies he was asked to bring with him were left in the backseat.

“And you….” Your stepfather turns on his heel after watching Reggie slam the door, once again focusing his attention on Tom. “– should remember you’re a guest in this house.”

Tom stands, abandoning his bag of frozen food on the countertop, but Aunt Abby is quicker at responding, rounding on your stepfather for the first time since everyone’s peaceful morning had been interrupted. “And you should remember you have a duty to _three_ children, Jim. Not two.”

Your stepfather starts to sputter. “I’ll judge how best to—“

“What do you know about raising children?” Joel’s seven word sentence halts everyone – everyone save your mother who reappears in the room faster than you can blink, Katie at her side.

“Joel!” Her tone conveys just how angry she is right now. Never one to scream, save for those last two years with your father, she always approached anger with a creepy-calm and wide-eyed stare that meant you were in deep shit. Her makeup is only half done, showing just how far she’d gotten in her morning routine before the brawl began. She points to the door Reggie had gone out of a few moments before. “Go get Katie her change of clothes and then go home.”

Joel gives a start, wheeling his attention around to look at your mother. “But.”

“I said go home!”

“But….” At a loss for how to argue against your mother, Joel turns to his father, “Dad!” Getting nothing but a glare in response, Joel stands, tossing his frozen peas at the sink – and missing – and waves wildly at Tom. “Why isn’t _he_ getting thrown out, too?!”

Well this holiday is a train wreck all around. You can’t look away, not that there’s any safe place to look at the moment. Your raging stepbrother, your livid parents, your wounded to silence great aunt, or Tom — especially not Tom, his clothes stretched out and stained from the fight in the yard, his anger etched into his features.

Your mother’s voice notches up in pitch. Does she finally sense the situation between you and Tom? “ _Everyone_ out of this kitchen. Out!” As you obediently flee the room you hear your mother address your great aunt, her tone betraying her flustered state, her words lost to the sounds of people moving through the house. “Oh Abby….”

It’s Tom, who you are following close on his heels, that you focus on as the pair of you go upstairs towards the guestroom. The grass and dirt marring his running attire. The stretched-out cotton… the stiff was he’s walking as he moves from step to step. The muttered words that you can just make out over the creak and groan of the staircase, “ _He_ isn’t getting thrown out, but will gladly leave.”

Leave!

If your heart wasn’t already fractured into pieces, it would shatter anew. He’ll leave, leave you _here_ , even after charging Joel? Wasn’t he just defending you in reaction Joel’s cruelty? Didn’t that mean he _didn’t_ hate you? That he _didn’t_ think you were abusive? That he _did_ still love you?

So many words fight to be the first to leave your lips as you step into the guestroom. An explanation, any explanation. Is there anything you can say to even approach the beginning of an explanation? _This isn’t what it’s normally like here_. But on your run hadn’t he accused you of lying to him? And that statement, if aired, is just another lie between the pair of you.

You watch Tom stoop to pick up his bag and shove it onto the messily made bed, unzipping it with more force than necessary. Your eyes find one of the grass stains on his shirt that spans from the top of his shoulder to the bottom of his ribs. “I’m sorry I ruined your holiday, Tom.”

Tom stops rummaging through his bag, turning slowly to face you. “ _Our_ holiday, darling. Ours.” He pauses, scowl growing, and reaches up to tentatively finger the split in his swollen lip. “At least I understand now why you didn’t want to come.”

“I just wanted to explain, first. Warn you…”

“Warn me?” He takes a step backwards, eyebrows lifting. “Warn me that one of the strongest, most stubborn people I’ve _ever_ met lets her family belittle her every chance they get?”

“Joel and Reggie are—“

“Assholes. And your parents allow it.”

“It’s _my_ fight. Not theirs! And not yours!”

Tom stands straighter. “Right. You’re making that painfully clear.”

“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not! Their father married your mother. They can think what they fucking like about your – our – profession, but that doesn’t mean they get to treat you like…”

“It’s _complicated,_ Tom _._ ”

“Fine! — Ha,” he snorts, pausing his tirade for a moment as he mutters under his breath, “look now you’ve got me saying it, too.” He shakes his head, waving his hands around as though trying to shake the anger from his system. “Enough. Enough. Fuck. Just – let’s both. Just. Take a minute. Get clean. Changed.”

“And then?”

“Then – either we leave here together. Check in to a hotel…”

“Or?” He’s going to do it – going to give you an ultimatum that you can’t…

“Or I call a car. And then the airport.”  

Fuck. “Tom!”

He holds up his hand to stop you, “Don’t. Don’t answer yet. We’re going to get clean and then – either you come down with your bag and we leave together or…” He turns away to lift a clean change of clothes from his bag, his motions deliberately slow. He waits until he’s turned to face you again, heading for the door to go and clean up and put on fresh clothes. “Or. Or, we don’t.”

You stand in the middle of the guestroom, furious and heartbroken. The choices he’s offering you are impossible. Impossible! Wasn’t he just trying to break up with you during your run? And now he’s telling you to abandon your family – turn your back on people who love you? Most of them anyway – most of the time.

Leaving abruptly like he’s asking will only make things ten times worse. They’re fucked up, but they’re family. They’re _your_ family.

But if you stay….

He’s leaving. With or without you.

Damn him for making such an ultimatum. Damn him for forcing you to choose! And what’s to say that he won’t change his mind in a month? Five? In a year’s time – or longer – when something else happens that drives a wedge between the pair of you? You’ll already have lost your family, because of this, and you won’t have him in your life either.

But he was the one that ran, no – sprinted, to engage with your stepbrother after hearing such wild accusations as – You feel the same wave of nausea and light headedness come over you that you’d felt hearing it the first time. _Finally realizing the drama queen is only after your name? Get out now, before she pays another ‘stalker’ to come after her._

The drama queen comment was a double-edged insult meant to wound both you and Tom. Of course insulting you, because that is Joel’s way, but also claiming that Tom was oblivious to the fact that you were a fame whore only out to gain notoriety from your connection to him. Which naturally led to the follow up comment. Even thinking about the reference to Mitch… Thanks to therapy you’re doing better on that front but you sidestep to lean against the baseboard of the bed, just in case the thought of the man that had been stalking you has any nasty side effects. You close your eyes and concentrate on your breathing to wait out the feeling that threatens to bowl you over. Instead of helping, it only serves to fuel your focus on reliving the fight that had taken place between Joel and Tom.  

_You disgusting piece of…._ Even Tom can’t figure out how to finish that insult, skidding to a halt before Joel, both men visibly vibrating in preparation for more than words being exchanged. You’re already in motion as Tom snarls at Joel. _The fuck is wrong with you?! He nearly killed her! Your SISTER!_

_Not by blood. And he missed – so clearly that money was wast —_ Joel didn’t get the chance to complete the sentence. That was the precise moment Tom hauled off and punched him. After that the insults exchanged were muffled between grunts and groans. You sway on your feet and decide maybe it’s a better idea to sit down while you wait for Tom to reappear.

When he comes back into the room, clean but still showing the signs of the fight with Joel, his blue eyes barely focus on you before shifting to your bag, untouched at the end of the bed. He dips his chin, clearly calculating the exact distance you’re sitting from your bag. “Your turn.”

“No.”

That brings his eyes up to meet yours. It might just be your imagination but it looks like he’s starting to experience some swelling around his right eye, as well as the fat lip. “No?”

You wait a second before even trying to rush through your response. “I’m staying, Tom.” For all the difficulty you face over saying it, he doesn’t seem shaken. He just releases a shallow sigh and looks away, pulling you to your feet. You take a step towards him. “Please understand. Please. I can’t – they’re my family.”

“So I have _a list_ of things I have to understand and they get a free pass.”

You shake your head, even though he’s refusing to look at you. “No. No, I mean…” You have started a bit of a list for him to _just understand_ , admittedly. “Well, yes, but… leaving would only make it so much worse next time.”  

“Next time?” Tom violently shoves his dirty clothes into his bag. You fully expect him to start giving you a litany of reasons to change your mind, or begin eloquently scolding you, but he remains silent instead.

Watching him silently pack is worse than hearing him berate you. All this – all this that could have been avoided if the pair of you had just stayed in LA. You didn’t even want to come but he was insistent! He wanted to spend a holiday with your family! Why didn’t you hold your ground? Why didn’t you cancel? Why didn’t you find a time to dig your head out of your ass and explain things to him?

When he retrieves his phone, presumably to reschedule his flight and find a way to get to the airport, you find words again, rasped as they are. “Tom. Please.”

He winces, swallowing before looking up and replying, “I’m leaving. I told you I would, and I am.” He inhales shakily, his words wobbling as he speaks. “You can change your mind anytime. Not that I expect you to, you gloriously stubborn woman.” It brings the ghost of smile to his lips, dashing even with his features as marred as they are. “But that’s just the way it is. Just the way it’s going to be.”

In the ten minutes it takes Tom to contract a company to pick him up and get him to the airport, and the twenty-five and a half minutes it takes for the driver to find your mother’s house you’ve changed your mind a thousand times, and found a thousand reasons why leaving with him is a horrible idea. You’ve lost faith in love and found it again – had firey anger coursing through your veins and then ice. In the end you do at least change – again calling to mind your days in the theater, quickly shedding one wardrobe for another – so that you’re able to be somewhat presentable as your life falls apart.

Seeing the deep blue, beyond blue, nearly black car pull up in front of your mother’s house triggers the shutdown of your emotions. The urge to scream is gone, as is the urge to cry. He’s leaving. He’s really doing it.

He only has the one bag to carry out to the car, shaking his head when the driver motions to the open trunk, and merely tossing it into the backseat before opening the passenger’s side door so that he can ride up front. He takes one last look at the house – at you standing on the sidewalk – the pair of you not bothering for drawn out goodbyes or tears.

For you, that will come later. Later when everyone isn’t watching. For now you settle for watching the most beautiful man you’ve ever known – both inside and out – walk out of your life.  


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: This holiday with Tom, Thanksgiving at your mother’s, wasn’t supposed to go down in the records as the worst holiday you’ve ever experienced. That’s what keeping secrets has won you. Worse, even, than the year of the charcoal turkey - though much like that one, this one has gone down in flames.

**T** he dark sedan that carried him away is not going to reappear in front of your mother’s house. You’re not standing in the front yard waiting for that. You’re not that disillusioned with life, no matter what your step-siblings say. Standing, shivering, in the front yard enables you to stare off into the middle distance and internally scream without being in anyone’s way. What else is there to do? If you go inside you’ll be tempted to go up to the guest room, curl up into a ball in the middle of the bed, and sob.

Even from your position on the front lawn you can hear _something_ going down in your mother’s kitchen. Occasionally their raised voices reach you, along with the bang of pots and pans. They’re either cleaning up all that had previously been prepared for Thanksgiving, or they’re continuing with their plans for the day while holding a very loud debate. You don’t care to find out which.

The sound of the front door opening, and closing, precedes footfall. Someone is venturing out to try to lure you inside, or at least lure you out of this fractured moment in time. You will not tell them to fuck off. You will not tell them to fuck off. You will not….

“What are you doing out here, child?”

Aunt Abby – pretty much the one person present for the events of the past 48 hours that you don’t hate at the moment, yourself included. You shrug your shoulders, shaking your head in a way that gently turns your torso along with the action. The cold is making you stiff. Or maybe that’s the fact that you didn’t get a bit of sleep last night while lying on the sofa. “Lowering my body temperature to match my heart….”

You lick your lips and realize they taste a little salty. It catches you off guard, and you you’re your hand up to press your chilled fingertips to your cheeks. You’ve been leaking tears, blinking them from your eyes, without even noticing.

How dramatic. How perfectly — thank God neither of your stepbrothers have returned to the house to witness this. They would have a field day.

“I—I’m not waiting for him to come back. I know that’s not going to happen.” You turn to look at her, convinced that she’s going to have this sympathetic look on her face that will only further your misery. “I don’t deserve it.” You swallow a gulp of air to brace yourself for the impact of her pity.

“Damn right.”

You blink at your great aunt, at the hard lines of her expression. “W-what?”

She wags her finger at you. “You let Beau fight your brothers. Fight your family. And then told him they meant more. He was right to leave.”

“But Abby.”

“Child, this isn’t the home you knew. Your mother will understand. Or she won’t. But she’s the only person in that house,” Aunt Abby motions with a roll of her shoulder to the house behind the pair of you, “who matters.”

“And Katie?”

For a moment there is a gentle smile on your great aunt’s face, replaced quickly with a frown. “That child is a blessing, but don’t you use her like that. Don’t you dare.”

You shake your head, fighting for composure. “But you just said I don’t deserve him.”  

She presses her lips into a thin line, the condensation caused by her breath minimal as she breathes out through her nose. “If you don’t go after Beau, if you break his heart the way you’re breaking yours, just to be stubborn – just to win a fight? You don’t.”

Hard words to hear, no matter who says them.

But what are you supposed to do? There’s too many variables. You stood out on the lawn for – for – too long. Entirely too long. Even if you speed to the airport there’s no assurance that he’ll still be there. He could have taken the earliest available flight _anywhere_ , anywhere just to be away from the regional airport the pair of you had flown into.

Do you call him? Hope that he picks up the phone rather than ignore your call? Or call John or Bruce? See if they’ve been notified that he’s on his way home – because he did say he was headed home, and home means London.

That means looping others in on the mess you’ve made. You’re not quite up to that, yet.

Time is of the essence but still, when you go upstairs, you’re tempted – just for a moment – to go down to your old room and crawl into the fort Katie had made. Hiding away won’t solve anything. At least Aunt Abby’s words had created cracks in the glass bubble of self hatred that you had receded into.

You inhale deeply, and then the real reason you haven’t yet left the guestroom and gone down the hall dawns on you, the reason you have your keys and bag on your person, but you haven’t been able to take the next step. Wherever you go next won’t smell like Tom. This room does, and it’s the last thing you can cling to.

Oddly enough, no tears. After the few that were shed on the lawn – before all the fuckery that led to Tom walking out, and those that escaped before Aunt Abby told you off for being your usual stubborn self…

Thinking about it does make your insides twist, but beyond a light stinging at the corners of your eyes, nothing happens. Is it because pain isn’t the only thing you’re feeling? Because you’re angry, too? He _left!_ He left. Whatever happened to not disrupting the family holiday? True enough, he’d said that before fully understanding the fuckery he was about to walk into. And then Joel had happened. And Tom’s tenuous hold on his temper had broken. And he’d realized the real reason you were only ever concerned about missing your father’s birthdays.

A tiny voice pulls at your attention and remember to move, breathe, and release your death grip on the rental car keys. Katie’s head and shoulders are visible through the open guestroom door – her clothes changed, her hair now washed and brushed. “Auntie? Can I come in?”

Someone must have told her to leave you alone. She looks terrified. Or maybe it’s just the overwhelming drama she’s been subjected to. _You’re_ reeling, what must it feel like for someone so young? You offer her an empty smile that she returns with some hesitance before slipping into the room and shutting the door behind her again. It quiets the din from downstairs, but doesn’t fully block it out.

If she expects you to entertain her, she’ll be sorely disappointed. You watch Katie meander to the side of the bed, requiring a bit of a jump to be able to seat herself next to you. You know she’s seen your bag, squished between you and the pillows on your left, but she doesn’t comment. The thunk of her shoes hitting the floor almost pulls a genuine smile out of you. She twists around, crossing her legs as she scoots closer to you. “Auntie. He didn’t go to get ice cream. Did he.”

“Your father? No, Katie. He didn’t.” Is that the lie they’ve been feeding her? She’s smart enough to have figured it out, though. The way she puts it, it is less question than statement.

She frowns, shaking her head, “No. Not Daddy.”

Oh. She means Tom. You look away from her, again feeling that light stinging at the corners of your eyes. Still, no tears come. You swallow, taking a deep breath before responding. “No. No, I—I think he went home.”

“You don’t know?”

“I…” You sigh, giving up on trying to figure out how to explain it to her. This little girl that you’ve just met, her green eyes boring into you, is more concerned about Tom’s absence – and how you’re doing – than any of the rest of them, apparently. Tilting your head as you shift to allow her closer, you give her a half-shrug, “It’s complicated, Katie.”

_It’s complicated, Tom!_ Echoes of your last conversation with him reverberate within your head as Katie scoots closer, still, settling herself against your legs. Soon she’ll be in your lap.

Home. Impulse makes you check your phone, though you’ve little hope. There are no messages from him rethinking his actions, asking you to meet him somewhere local, or at the airport. Of course you haven’t sent _him_ anything, yet, either.

_Pot. Kettle_.

Katie wiggles, excited by your sudden movement. Her eyes open a bit wider, “Are you going to call him?!”

“No.”

_Gloriously stubborn woman!_

You force your frown from your face, adopting a mask of neutrality to keep Katie from being able to read every emotion passing through your head. Richard. Stop being stubborn. Pull your head out of your ass for a few minutes, at the very least. Do something. Tell Richard to be on the lookout… and let Mark know what’s going on. Do _anything_ other than sit here, every additional minute costing you so much.

You start composing the text without knowing quite what you’re planning on asking of him: _Richard –Can you reach out to John or Bruce. Thanksgiving is a mess. Wish you were here. Thanks._

There. Simple. Straightforward… and vague. Very vague. But it’s a start.

Actually, it’s better than a start. You’ve gotten the ball rolling. With Richard looped in, it only makes sense to reach out to Mark. He needs to be prepared for what’s coming. Compared to the short text sent to Richard, Mark’s will end up being a novel.

Katie is silent for a while, content to let the keyboard sounds on your phone be the only accompanying noise. It lasts until you’re halfway through your long and rambled explanation to Mark. “Why?”

“Why?” You echo her question. Why? Why…. Oh. She wants to know why you’re not calling Tom. Setting the phone aside, you lick your lips before answering. The few second delay doesn’t help you figure out even a halfway decent response… You reach out to rub her shoulder, shaking your head gently, “Because… I don’t think he’d answer.”

Actually. The truth is that you’re afraid he won’t answer. After everything that has happened, after the way you treated him when he was the one attempting to call all those months ago… As much as you’re hurting now, _that_ would be so much worse.

The expression she’s giving you compels you to continue with your explanation. “I hurt him. I hid things from him. Things I should have told him.”

“Like?”

Her interest seems genuine enough. Then again, she seemed to have taken a liking to you from the very start. You were the one that was able to coax her from under the dinner table last night – a moment in time that seems like ages ago.

“Well… Like you, for example. And my relationship with your father, and your uncle, Reggie.” You hadn’t meant to put it quite so bluntly, and wait for her to recoil. That’s not something you just blurt out to a child, no matter how mature they seem for eight. You furrow your eyebrows together for a moment, frustrated at your lack of tact. “You’ll understand better when you’re older.”

Which, in terms of appropriate things to say to an eight year old, is the worst choice. Katie dips her head down, her expression darkening as she recoils from your touch. “That’s what they said downstairs, too!” She’s off the bed, her shoes forgotten. Her little form is vibrating as she scampers towards the door. “It was a big person conversation and I wouldn’t understand!”  

Well done, adding another person to the list of people currently having a shit day. Happy Thanksgiving to all. Your mother’s never going to forgive you when you walk downstairs with your bag and announce your departure. Aunt Abby will never forgive you if you stay. You’re never going to forgive yourself for this whole mess… and Tom? Is there any hope?

You return to sending messages on your phone, not ready to have anyone hear how your voice wobbles as you relay all that has happened. There are responses already from Mark, and from Richard. Mark wants more details. You promise to call after you get on the road to head to the airport. Richard first sends a series of question marks, then a simple: _are you ok?_ – and then – _Mark called. Need me there or meet me here?_

_I’m coming back._ You hesitate before sending the next message. _Heard from John or Bruce?_

There’s a short delay before you get an answer. Two words: _Not yet._

You stare at the message, as though it’ll change if you focus on the words long enough. It doesn’t. Exhaling, you move to stand, lifting the weight of your bag which seems to have gained a few pounds since you packed it. It certainly isn’t for holiday shopping.

Inaction is doing you no good, neither is dragging your feet. You need to leave while you still have the motivation to do it. It would be all too easy to curl up into a ball on the bed and wait for Richard to come and drag you back to LA.

The conversation in the kitchen stops when you descent the stairs, your bag slung over your shoulder. You pause and look towards the kitchen to see Aunt Abby, your mother, and your stepfather spaced out at odd intervals in the room. Nobody seems very happy. At least the rest of the extended family that had been present yesterday missed the events of this morning. Distantly you wonder if anybody will question your absence at dinner tonight, or if your mother will still host Thanksgiving dinner at all.

“Next time –“ you pause, doing your best to keep your expression blank, “if there even _is_ a next time…” You dart your eyes to meet your great aunt’s gaze for a moment. She gives you a small nod, and you take a strengthening breath. “I’m not attending another function where Reggie and Joel are present. Ever.” Clearly this has been something they’ve been talking about. Your mother emits a strangled noise, which in turn causes a tightening in your throat. You swallow and fight against the feeling, giving a lopsided shrug to the three inhabitants of the room. “I’m done. And if that’s a problem…. I’m done.”

It’s tempting to add something about bringing Richard along, if there is a next time, because it would have been fantastic to have had Richard, or Bruce, or John – someone, anyone – there to stall out that fight. It also would have forced staying in a hotel versus at your mother’s place, which might have helped matters, too.

Fuck hindsight.

Either Aunt Abby is keeping anyone from following you, or the loud debate has resumed and kept everyone engaged indoors. No matter which scenario is the case, nobody follows you out to the rental car. It’s for the best. Every other comment you could possibly add on to the statement you made indoors would only make the situation worse.

There’s this urge, creeping up and gaining momentum within you, to scream – and to cry. Can’t do that, yet. You need to get in the car. You need to hurry after Tom. You need to be there before he gets on a plane.

After tossing your bag in the passenger’s seat – because who has time to shove it into the backseat? – you jam the key in the ignition and start the car. Immediately your eyes drift to the dashboard clock, and you wince.

It’s been over two hours since he left. With an hour and change between your mother’s house and the airport, that left him an hour to get through security and get on a flight. There’s no way he found something immediately departing, which means you still have a chance. It won’t be glamorous, in your condition? In his? But you owe him this. You owe yourself this. You’ll find a nice out of the way space – maybe convince him to leave the airport and go somewhere private so you can assure him that you’re not a _complete_ fuck up, that he does mean more to you than your abusive – yes, he was right on that, too – family.

You put the car into reverse and back down the drive, mentally trying to figure out the fastest route to get to the airport this time of day. It’s been ages since you’ve been here – and depending on the way of things, will probably be ages again before you come back, if ever.

Even if you speed there you have the rental car to deal with. But then there’s another two days on the agreement… so technically you could just park it and deal with it later. You bite your lip, fighting a frown. Your _deal with it later_ mentality is exactly what got you into this mess.

There are still no updates – from anyone – as to where Tom is. Surely he’s gotten into contact with John or Bruce. _Someone_ has to know where he is. In the car still? To the airport? Through security?

Your heart skips – and realization dawns. You don’t have to wait and see.

“Call him, idiot.” Your voice echoes oddly in the nearly empty car.

One button and you press send – waiting, hoping, to hear his voice pick up on the other end.

“Pick up. Pick up. Please, pick up.” _Please don’t be me. Please don’t ignore the phone when you see my name pop up on caller ID._

The phone rings once.

Twice.

 

Three times.

 

Four.

 

 

Five.

You’re going to need to pull over, at this rate. He’s not answering. Tom isn’t answering your call. Is he inflight already? Or just ignoring you?

No hanging up. Even though you want to hang up, throw up, and throw the phone into the depths of the passenger’s side foot-alcove. You deserve this treatment. Isn’t it what you did to him, before? When you caught a glimpse of him next to his ex, his then-costar? Actually, you had silenced your phone after one ring. Sent it immediately to voicemail and then turned off your phone. He’s not doing _that_ to you.

Yet.

Which is exactly why you’re only going to stay on the line until his voicemail picks up. And – and then what?

Speak from the heart.

Then it’s up to him. Either he’ll listen to the message and call you back, or he won’t. If he’s already in the air, already heading for his connection that will take him back to London, it’ll be awhile before you’ll hear back from him. If he’s still at the regional airport and just doesn’t want to talk to you…

Either way, you can stop rushing down the back roads.

 

 

Six rings.

 

 

 

Seven.

 

 

There’s a spot where you can turn off and focus on what you’re saying. You put on the vehicle hazard lights and exhale as his outgoing message greets you.

_Here goes nothing_ – internally you wish yourself luck as the long beep ends, prompting you to leave your message after the tone. “Tom? Hey.” You exhale, and let out a curse, too. “Fuck, I should have practiced this before I tried to call. Um… Ok. I uh – I left. Told them all that, well, I guess that doesn’t matter right now. But I did. I left. I should have gone with you when you asked. I know that. I know that, and I didn’t, because… Because I’m stubborn, which you know… And used to love. But I guess…”

You falter, twisting your single-handed grip on the steering wheel, your other hand holding the phone aloft as you speak. The hazard lights click on and off, on and off.

”I guess sometimes the things we start out loving about a person can turn into the things we hate most. And I know you don’t want to hear me say it again, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kept things from you, and how I told you about my family. And for pulling away when I shouldn’t’ve.

“But honestly? If we could start over? Do it all again? I would. Well, maybe not with Mitch. If we were given a choice – y’know, if we could tweak things… But, would we be _us_ then? Would we _have been_ us? I don’t… I guess that’s not the point, is it?

“The point is, I love you.” You exhale slowly, winding down and expecting at any moment for your message to come to an abrupt end. “I always will, Tom, even if you never speak to me again. And I should have said that before, I know that. Actually, I _shouldn’t’ve_ let you get in that car. But there’s no changing that, now. That’s life. There are no redo buttons.”

Every word spoken to the empty air of his voicemail has been pointing you towards something you’ve been refusing to admit to yourself. This isn’t a _call me back_ message. This is goodbye.

Message left, you end the call and lean forward, trying to figure out if this ache in your chest is a heart attack, or heartbreak, or exhaustion – or, more likely, some combination thereof. Resting your forearms on the top of the steering wheel you brace your body against the unyielding column and focus on breathing and the steady – click click - click click – of the hazard lights. Time to resume your earlier mantra: _please call me back. Please call me back. Please…._

You phone vibrates in your hand, the woven material of the seatbelt pulling tight against your chest as your body jerks within the confines of the seat. It’s a scramble to answer the phone, to will your hands to cooperate with your brain’s panicked instructions to _answer the phone_! Don’t push decline, don’t drop the fucking thing. Accept. Accept. Accept.

“Honey?”

It’s your father.

Not Tom.

Your father. You close your eyes, the surge of adrenaline and hope changing into something sinister.

“Where are you? Is everything alright?”

“Dad?” Your voice wobbles. You feel like you’re sinking backwards into the driver’s seat. “Who called you? Who told you?” Before he can even answer – because honestly his answer doesn’t matter – you feel all of it begin to pour out: tears and pain and words. “Dad. I fucked up.”


	71. Chapter 71

 

 

YOJA 71

Sitting off the side of the road before the turn to the rental car return, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, you know you have to pull back onto the road and into the lot. You know what you have to do, but that doesn’t mean you want to do it. Right now you’d rather do anything other than acknowledge that the world is continuing, life is continuing, despite the fact that everything about yours is falling apart.

Well, not everything.

You still have a job. You still have Richard, and Mark, and your father, your costars of projects both current and past: Matt, and Andrew, and Ben, and… You even have Bruce and John, maybe, if you choose to believe Richard when he claims their unbiased opinions regarding this mess.

But Tom – the one whose opinion matters the most right now…

The trio of bodyguards always did carry on a running group message. Evidently the melodrama isn’t dividing them as it has you and Tom. You’ll better express your gratitude to the two abroad when you can actually string a few words together and hang onto them through successful delivery. At the moment it’s not something you’re fully capable of. Everything comes out strangled, with odd starts and stops.

You were too late – too late to intercept him at the airport. Too late to keep him from leaving the state, leaving everything as things were. When you’re motivated and have the means, it’s pretty easy to go ‘ _anywhere but here’_.

You, on the other hand, get to sit and wait for a flight to LA, which is _just_ what you need right now. Time to think. Paranoia grabs hold of you after a while and every someone that lingers nearby causes you to flinch. Every time you twist your body a bit, preparing yourself for a blurted comment that will stall your heart and deal the final blow. As time passes your optimism, your determination, your desperation – call it what you will – wavers and fades.

You were so certain during your mad dash to the airport – so very certain that he would hear your message and stop. At the very least, you expected some sort of communication. If not a call, maybe a text. Some sort of acknowledgement.

Nothing comes.

Since you weren’t planning on being out in public, let alone traveling back home, you don’t have the usual buffer – your hat or sunglasses aren’t even remotely close to on hand. They’re somewhere buried in your bag – probably at the bottom. At least most seem too harried, too consumed over their own holiday misadventures to be concerned with the barely-holding-it-together woman sitting in the corner of the club lounge.

When your hiccups finally subsided after ending the call with your father you’d gotten on the phone with Mark. Your heart was already racing, along with your mind, and – well, poking at wounds didn’t matter at that point. Nothing was permanent. Right? All the damage could be undone. Yea. Right.

Except were you sure you wanted to fly blindly to London? After everything? Mark was willing to work his magic and make it happen, but you needed to be sure it was the right move. Which, of course, you weren’t. A text, or another attempt at calling, anything would settle matters – but that could either provide relief or destroy you.  

Uncertainty drove your decision. LA. You’d fly home, grab something more than the light bag you’d brought with you for the brief holiday span at your mother’s, then head on to London to see if you could repair things with Tom. Mark had worked his magic and found a flight that would depart for LA – a goodly five hours after you would be arriving to the airport – but also giving you more time to wait for the call you just _knew_ was due to come from Tom. For the first hour you focused, with every ounce of hope you could muster, on the relief at being able to call Mark back and ask him to rework your flight: London! Not LA!

But the hour passes.

Unlike you, Tom isn’t petty and doesn’t sulk, at least not to the degree you ever have.

Your plans regarding what you’ll say when he calls back – that’s when, not if – give way to analysis of every mistake you’ve ever made since meeting him. It’s quite a list.

You’re – you’re definitely going to have to keep apologizing. Risk his irritation in the hopes that at a certain point he’ll begin to accept it. You’ve come up with at least twenty conversations, and variations of each of those besides, and there’s still two hours until the flight, roughly one and a half until boarding begins.

Which is precisely when the text comes through from Richard that makes you zone out completely. One minute you’re readying yourself to make the quick walk down the corridor to the proper gate, the next you’re standing among static, unable to look away from the text.

_J & B update on Tom: Made his connection. They’ll update again at touchdown if we want. All glad to hear you didn’t stay._

All?

If we want?

Made his connection. So he didn’t manage a direct flight.

But.

But he’s still bound for London. Didn’t he listen to your message? What would he do if you followed? What if you tell Mark that you’ve decided not to wait for any response to your voicemail and just…

That was the plan when you’d left your mother’s house, speeding down the road towards the airport? Part of it, right? Chasing him? There was a plan in there somewhere, other than just running from the house you used to call home. It wasn’t just panic. It wasn’t just dreading being rejected by someone you love after shoving everyone else aside.

Then another comes: _Mark says please don’t engage_

You tilt your head, curious. Don’t engage? Is he suggesting that you should actually IGNORE Tom if he reaches out? Or that you should leave communication with John and Bruce to Richard?

_YES we want an update at touchdown. Yes! What the fuck?_

Richard reads the response and replies immediately. _Just relaying what I’m told._

You grumble at the screen of the device, a frown scrunching your features. “Yea. Uh huh.”

There’s an urge, nearly indistinct in the dizzying tornado within you, to tell all the world to go fuck itself. You can’t do that, though. You have to continue, you have to keep moving, just like the bustle of travelers surrounding you.

All glad to hear you didn’t stay. Carefully neutral. But then Tom probably said something close to that, even as he gently edged his fingertips around the puffy skin of his face, exploring the bruises half hidden by makeup. He’ll calm down in a day or two and return your call. If he doesn’t, you’ll be the one to reach out. You’ll offer another apology. See where the pair of you stand.

Right, then. Keep moving forward – keep moving and keep from falling apart. You can manage that, at least until you’re safely home again. You had a good cry on the phone with your father. You’ll be good for another few hours, yet.

Once you board the plane for LA you put in your earbuds and wait for what comes next.

Your arrival home, alone, that will not – does not – go unnoticed.

You feel the impact of every shout as though they were literally flinging things at you.

**“Meeting the family gone horribly wrong?”**

**“What was the deal breaker?”**

**“Who burned the turkey?”**

**“Who _threw_ the turkey?” **

That one makes your muscles clench, despite every internal command to keep from reacting. It’s too close to the truth, the comment that will inevitably surface: _who threw the first punch_? It hasn’t leaked, yet, but give it time. Give it time. Once upon a time you might have been able to pull a perfectly neutral mask, but all you can think about it what Tom must be going through. His face was already showing signs of the damage inflicted by Joel. You need to call Tom again… you need to apologize, again. You need to find a quiet place and…

You swallow hard when you see Richard waiting for you, finding yourself suddenly fighting against tears for the reassurance his appearance provides. It’s his job, you know that, but the relief that floods through you in knowing that you’re not alone, not going to have to make the trek to your waiting transportation alone is immense.

Seeing the look on your face Richard reaches up and snags his baseball cap, offering it to you in lieu of any sort of greeting. Accepting it, you move in close, murmuring a thanks as he readies to guide the pair of you through the crowd and out of the building. It may be spoken as close to his ear as possible without completely invading his personal space, but it’s inevitable that someone somewhere will catch your words. “God. Thanks.”

“Yea,” Richard offers a half smile, a low, hesitant chuckle escaping him. “Let’s get you out of here.”

He’ll have questions. Lots of them, and will probably attempt to grill you the entire ride home from the airport. After all, Mark could only absorb so much information, and you’d offered only so much at the time, but there are questions you need answered, too. How bad is it? Has he heard anything more from John and Bruce? Have Joel and Reggie decided to go for the coups de grace and sold their story – or, and the thought makes you shudder with revulsion and rage – filed charges against Tom?

So far you haven’t heard anything from the crowd that hints that your step-siblings have gone to the press with their side of the story, and Tom doesn’t have a history of airing his dirty laundry to the world. You’re certainly not going to be the leaky faucet, but it leaves far too much room for speculation.

You’ve got to let Mark do his job. That’s what he meant by _do not engage_. It was his plea to give him time to try to gain control of the situation again. He knows what he’s doing. He hires people for this sort of thing. He kept the business with your step-siblings out of public knowledge for this long. Let the professionals handle it. You handle your own shit – like what you’re going to say to Tom, next time.

“You alright? Bathroom?”

You blink, forcing yourself to focus on what he asked. “What? Oh, no yea I’m fine.“ Your heart squeezes at the utterance and you wince, gasping as you correct yourself, “I’m – no. I just want to go home.”

Home is the plan. Home to… what? To pack. Not to stuff what few articles of clothing you have that are clean into a bag and head on to London. No. That was an ill-considered thought from a panicked woman. You’ll just – go on to Madrid. Extra time spent prepping for the rushed period of filming on location in Spain will be good for you. If Tom reaches out it’ll be a quick hop over. You’ll be able to talk to him face to face. If he doesn’t…

The plan for Christmas and New Years was to be with him and his family. Those plans will certainly have to change.

Christmas in Spain?

Bruce is the first to reach out to check on you, waiting till the following day to bypass the filter of going through Richard. Having begged off from your morning run with Richard, you’ve only got house chores to keep your mind occupied. Bruce’s text comes as you meander down the hallway to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer. _I’ve heard from him & what Rich says but I wanna hear from you. _

_I’m an idiot, but we all knew that._ You shove your phone back into your pocket and begin the task of shifting the wet clothes from one machine to the other.

The clothes are tangled and cold. Appropriate, honestly, to reflect your internal landscape. Cold, messy, and approaching numb.

Another text from Bruce, a single word that almost reaches through your ache and makes you smile: _Unfair_.

“Yea. So is life.” You might just text that response to him as well, rather than just muttering it to your soggy clothes. On your way back to the kitchen, you might. Not that biting sarcasm will help anything.

Leaning on the machine to be able to reach the last few items from the bottom of the drum, you stretch, snagging the jeans and hauling them up, only to drop them again. There, at the bottom of the washer, are a few scattered coins. You’d heard them shifting around in the wash and assumed they were the buttons to your jeans scraping the inside of the metal container. No. No it’s a few coins, leftover as evidence of better times when the man you’ve ruined your future with was temporarily living with you: two £2 coins, a 50p, and a 20p.

 


	72. Chapter 72

** **

**Y** ou’re starting to hate the space you were so thrilled to be able to call your own all those months ago. At the time it felt like a triumph. No longer wandering, no longer solely living out of a suitcase. You made it your own, decorated to your own liking, putting pieces of yourself out on display, and then invited someone to share that space with you. Now everywhere you turn something reminds you of the man who seems to want nothing more to do with you. And it’s all your own doing. You have no one to blame here but yourself.

The only way you’ve managed to get through the past 24 hours – every minute crawling by since touching down in LA – is determined cleaning. When all your focus is on getting the stain out of the carpet the ache within doesn’t cripple you. The shower becomes completely free of water spots or even a hint of mildew or calcium buildup. The result is that your place is within inches of looking like a staged home. Every last surface sparkles, even if you don’t.

Your phone is a continuous fountain of words. Some of the incoming calls are tempting to answer. Most are ignored. They do, however, make you jump for the phone every time the device alerts you to incoming communication. Each time there’s the faintest glimmer of hope within you that it’s the one person you want to hear from. 

So far, no such luck. With each additional call, from everyone but him, it becomes harder and harder to summon that hope.

Picking up the phone introduces a whole other problematic area. The internet. Even though Mark assures you he has a handle on it – that the PR team is figuring out the next move –  you’re on step-brother watch, watching and waiting for their version of the events to appear in a tabloid. Be it Reggie or Joel, or one of the surrounding neighbors who might let something slip, it’s inevitable that the story will come out.

Waiting for the unseen blow is getting old. Waiting is getting old. You’re waiting for fallout from Reggie and Joel. Waiting for Mark and his team to tell you what the next move is. Waiting for Tom return your call. Waiting. Waiting.

“But sweet-pea,” your father reasons during your early morning phone call, “What good is it doing? This stubbornness? Call him again. He’ll answer.”

“What if he doesn’t? What if he won’t?” Seated on the loveseat he had given you, you can’t help but dart your eyes to the corner where the notes from him hang on the wall. Evidence of better times. _That_ Tom would have called you already. He’s changed, since then. You changed him. Not for the better.

Your father doesn’t miss a beat. “He will.”

Feeling the sting of tears and not wanting to sit there and have your father listen to you sob over the line, yet again, you rush through a quick goodbye. “Love you, Dad. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright but ---“

You end the call before hearing his final words, shoving the phone into your lap before swinging your body sideways, collapsing onto the cushions of the love seat. Your father’s faith regarding relationships is nothing less than amazing. But then – he’s found love again. It’s easy to be so optimistic when your heart is full. Right now finding and holding on to hope is something you’re struggling with. Despite your father’s conviction, you’re not sure Tom will answer. It’s uncertainty – not stubbornness, as your father claims – that you’re fighting against. As much as it hurts not knowing, _knowing_ he hates you would be so much worse.

But you shouldn’t have hung up on your father. It’s hardly the actions of a grateful daughter. Slowly you shift your body, moving to retrieve your phone from the spot where it has come to rest, wedged between your hip and the cushions. You unlock it, readying to dash off a quick text in apology, but that’s as far as you get in that effort. A news notification, staring up at you in black and grey glory, stalls you out.

_WHO BASHED THE DASHING BRIT?_

Your heart flutters, beating all too quickly, before stopping – and your stomach lurches in the same moment. Here it comes. The first of many articles. “Oh.” Words escape you, not bile, but it’s a close call. “God. Tom” You inhale, clicking the article because you must. There’s nothing else to do in this moment but read. You skim the article, eyes dancing from sentence to sentence, hanging up on certain phrases before moving on.

_Rumors swirl after abrupt return from vacation abroad. Hiddleston, supposedly spending time with his American girlfriend and her family for the US holiday, reappeared in London on …_

You skip down, holding your breath.

_… refusal to comment, with both stars remaining hidden from the public eye._

Nothing specifying what went down.

Half of you is relieved. Half of you wishes it would just be over with, already.

Yes. Hiding indoors. You even begged off running with Richard this morning – all to focus on scrubbing the shower. Has Tom, ever the creature of habit – who runs to help clear his head, done the same?

As you scroll down a series of pictures are revealed. Of course there are photos of your respective arrivals home. Home. Once again the pair of you are on different continents. You close your eyes, fingers hovering over the screen of the device. There’s nothing to do but wait for the pressure on your heart to pass.

Fluttering your eyes open, pretending that the dampness is just due to yawning, you trace your pointer finger over the screen of your phone again, pushing the photos of you and Richard out of view. The same three words previously uttered escape you again as the photos of Tom are revealed. “Oh, God. Tom.”

It starts with a distance shot, John and Bruce also captured in the moment. That’s almost bearable. At least they were there to pick him up, to provide support. The next few are all close-ups, the bright flashes of light from the cameras inescapably capturing the condition of Tom’s face.

Someone had helped him to try to mask the marring of his features. You toss up a small thanks for their kindness, even if it was ineffectual. Knowing the details of his face so intimately you see the damage regardless of their efforts. The bruises. The swelling.

All the air leaves your lungs and you let your phone fall from your fingers. Who cares that it thumps to the floor rather than landing on the soft cushions of the love seat, or in your lap. You press your hands to your face, your palms cupping your cheeks, slivers of light reaching your eyes in the gaps between your fingers.

It’s all your fault. All you had to do was open your mouth. That was all. A simple act would have prevented all of this from happening. A conversation – all that was needed.

Just like – just like now. You stutter a breath, inhaling precious oxygen against an unseen force keeping it from your lungs. All you have to do is act. Your father is right: doing nothing _is_ making it worse.

But will a call, or repeated calls, be enough?

No. No. If you’re going to do something, you need to do it and do it right. You’re going to London. With or without Mark’s blessing. You’re going. With or without Richard. You’re going. You’re going to London. You’re going to Tom.

You’re announcement nets interesting reactions.

_Where you go, I go._

Richard’s text, his small bit of support, does wonders.

Mark’s response comes in the form of a call, his hesitance clear. Concern and doubt are things you can manage very well on your own, thanks.

“You’re sure, this time?”

“Yes!”

“Positive?” He’s at his computer, typing while holding the conversation with you which doesn’t help the state of your nerves. “Because when I asked you before, you told me…”

“I know what I said!” His attempted words of wisdom fall short, prompting you to fire off a reply. “Mark, I’m not asking permission. If you won’t help me get the tickets I’ll do it myself.”

“I know, which is why I’m already getting someone to line up the flights. I’m just doing my job. Reminding you of _your_ job. You’re due in Madrid a few days from now.”

Swallowing hard, you battle the temptation to tell him to fuck the job. What is the job worth if your heart isn’t in it? But he’s right. He has to cover his own ass, and yours. The studio has already put up with quite a lot from you. Too much more and they might reconsider keeping you around for the duration of the shoot.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, Mark.” You have to close your eyes to keep yourself from seeking out visual cues that would force a resurgence of tears. In the ten minutes since coming to the decision to do something – to fight for Tom, with Tom – it has become easier to hold onto the edges of hope. You’ll sit apologize until he caves, or till tells you that there’s nothing you’ll ever be able to do to earn his forgiveness. “I’ve – I’ve got to go to London. I’ve got to try.”

Richard arrives with his go bag, his things already packed in prep for the stay in Madrid. It takes you longer, your intense cleaning hindering your packing progress rather than aiding it. While he waits, Richard loops in John and Bruce, the back and forth lasting until you’re nearly ready to go. As he paces you catch his eyebrows flicking upwards, then furrowing down into a frown as his jaw clenches, his lips pressing into a thin line.

His reaction pauses you, scarf in hand. Is Tom telling you there’s no hope via proxy? Is he telling you not to come? Stay in LA. Stay away? “What?” Your heart refuses to beat at a normal pace as you wait for his answer.

He shrugs, trying for a casual gesture but there is a tension running through him that he can’t disguise. He can’t shake off the scowl, and he drops his gaze, focusing on your bag rather than your face. “It’s nothing. Ready? We need to go.”

Your mouth says yes. Your heart, fearful of what he isn’t telling you, says no.

Once again facing the long flight from LA to London you envy all those surrounding you that are able to manage sleep. Nerves and heartache make it impossible even to nap – the things that surface every time you attempt to settle jolting you awake again. They might be nightmares, if you could succumb to your weariness.

Reggie sneering. Joel throwing punches. Tom remaining out of reach no matter what you try. A sea of cameras isolate you from everything and everyone. Flashes blind. Then the voice that hasn’t haunted you in weeks – _‘Gotta admit. A little disappointed findin’ his stuff everywhere.’ –_ It’s a few words echoing in your mind but it forces you to bolt forward in your seat. You’re barely able to grab the bag, push it open, and successfully contain the contents of your stomach.

You can’t. You can’t do battle with that memory right now. You swallow, trying to ignore the taste of bile that threatens to pull more up from within your stomach. You’re on an airplane. You’re flying to London. Mitch is in your past – in the past. He can’t hurt you. He’s locked away.

A light pressure on your shoulder blade makes you jerk in your seat. It’s Richard, his hand moving up to grip your shoulder. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong? You ok?”

How can he ask that against obvious evidence that you’re not? You swallow again before croaking out a reply. “No.” You should sit up, act normal, try not draw more attention to yourself – but for the time being it is all you can do to focus on the task of sealing the bag you hold in your hands.

Movement and footsteps alert you to the arrival of one of the ever-alert flight attendants. Being fair, it’s easier to keep an eye on the few dozen first class passengers. “She ok?”

You internally _dare_ Richard to say yes. His hand hasn’t left your shoulder, but you can feel him shift in his seat before responding. “Can… we get another water?”

“Sure.”

A few more seconds pass before you feel confident enough to sit up again, guided upwards by Richard who seems hesitant to allow you to move on your own. “Turbulence?”

You narrow your eyes at him. He knows good and well it wasn’t anything to do with the condition of the flight. “No.” You give your head a short shake, swallowing what little saliva has accumulated in your mouth. “Memory. Bad one.”

He waits for further explanation but you don’t want to get into it here. Too many ears, just like before when he tried to get you to eat more than a few pieces of your bagel. Silently, you shift your hand to trace along the scar on your forearm that your long sleeves hide from view.

Richard drops his hand from your shoulder to rest it over yours, over the scar, warmth radiating from his palm. For a few seconds he can’t lift his eyes to meet yours. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“That wasn’t your fault. That’s on me. Just like this mess…” You shake your head. You’d sent him away, certain that you were untouchable. Life has an uncanny way of reminding you of your place every time you forget yourself. Searching his features, you voice the only other thing that’s on your mind – screw those around you who might be listening in. “Richard, am I doing the right thing? Going after him?”

He offers half a smile, again reminding you of whatever it was that John and Bruce told him earlier, the comment left unsaid. “Hell of a thing to ask midair.” The flight attendant returns with the new bottle of water, and Richard hands it across to you, pausing to claim the cap. He waits until you’ve taken a swallow and the attendant has returned to their station before speaking again, rolling the cap between his palms as he speaks. “Right or wrong, I dunno. That’s your call.” His eyes drop down to your forearm for a second and he nods, “Told you I’d be there, after… So here I am. My opinion. As an observer – as your _friend_ … Some things you gotta fight for.” He becomes still, locking eyes with you, “Love’s one of ‘em.”

 


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: The worst holiday ever, worse even than the first holiday after your parents split when you were younger, is the holiday that won’t stop giving. But it’s unfair to source all the turmoil you’re experiencing in your life right now on the events of that day. No, this drama between you and Tom can be traced back further than that. Just how far back do you need to go to erase all this pain? Can it be erased? Can you win Tom back by a grand gesture - by throwing caution to the wind and flying to see him and apologizing again and again, until the quota is met? Having booked the flight, and landed already, isn’t it a bit late to even be considering those questions?

If walking around Los Angeles was bad, London is worse. Chalk it up to proximity – the same continent again, the same city, soon hopefully the same room . Or maybe this ill feeling is just the fact that everywhere you turn you seem to be able to find a tabloid putting their own spin on the mess that is your life.

_Speculation surrounds Tom Hiddleston (36), spotted with a freshly bruised black eye at the airport this weekend. A close friend to the British celeb said he was supposed to be abroad, among other things attending a family dinner with his current (for now?) girlfriend, Touring Sundays starlet (34). Her family remains tight-knit and close-lipped, seemingly anxious about saying anything about the actor or any potential feud that developed over the holiday. Hiddleston himself hasn’t commented on whether he received the injury after saying something inappropriate at dinner or…_

You want to move away from the newsstand, tear yourself away from the article, and want desperately to scream the truth at the throngs of people pushing past. Richard remains by your side, steadfast, even if he too is turning a little green as he reads the headlines over your shoulder. The fact that they’re claiming your family is remaining tight-knit is enough to tempt you to break your promise to Mark, to go ahead and tell all to the next person who dares to shove a camera in your face and ask.

_The stars are just like us! Fame can buy you many things. Clearly this international action hero needs further training, at least in manners, after being caught leaving girlfriend’s room while spending the holiday her family._

“Richard,” you choke out your bodyguard’s name, finally turning your back on the words that have held you captive. Your mind is reeling, struggling to grasp on a thought that doesn’t sting. “H-have you heard from Bruce or John? This is… this is…” You can’t even find an adequate word for the revulsion stirring within you.

Again you witness that strange twitch from Richard, the attempt at a nonchalant shrug that fails horribly.

Oh enough of this. “What?”

He gives up, shaking his head slowly as he guides the pair of you onward towards the rental car desk. He thinks that getting you in motion will help with whatever he needs to admit to you. Distantly a thought surfaces – something about it being easier to admit things to people when you’re not having to look at them eye-to-eye. “They, uh, they offered to come pick us up.”

“They did?!” A rush of surprise and excitement hits you, almost battling back the knowledge that your sex life is once again fodder. John and Bruce offered to be here, meaning Tom wanted to be here. The surge of hope makes you walk a little faster.

But… but Tom isn’t here.

None of them are.

Your steps slow to a normal pace. “Wait, but – did you say no?”

“Nuh-uh.” Richard’s negative response comes in a forceful grunt. His ability to keep up with your haphazard pace without looking harried would be impressive, if you had time to consider it. “Was yesterday when they offered.” The next sentence is spoken at a softer volume. “Before Tom sent them away.”

You stop walking, right there in the middle of the walkway. The whoosh of excitement turns sour before it dissolves. “He did _what_?”

It’s a question Richard knows better than answer. He knows you heard him well enough. The next thing to come to mind nearly tumbles out of your mouth, but you can’t find your voice. It’s another question that has an obvious answer, which is all the more reason to keep from saying it. _Why would Tom send John and Bruce away?_ Because they were remaining in contact with you. Which means…

Which means maybe coming here wasn’t the best plan after all.

Dimly, you feel Richard’s loose grip on your arm. He’s pulling you into motion again, back into the flow of pedestrian traffic. Your feet are reluctant to cooperate. _Fuck. Fuck!_  “Fuck,” you whisper the curt explicative under your breath, muttering miserably as you are half pushed, half pulled forward. “This was a mistake.”

“No,” Richard keeps moving you along, gently guiding you onward. His voice is soft, close at your ear. “No, you’re fighting for your heart, remember? Come on.”

You’d been **so sure** , sitting there on the loveseat, so sure that this was what needed to happen. Talking to Tom face to face. You had to! No more hiding behind the screen of a phone – which had been part of the reason things had gone wrong before. It’s far too easy to sever contact. The field of view is so limited. Being here, in person, it better enabled you to prove to Tom that he meant something to you – to show that the thing between the pair of you was something worth saving, worth believing in. You needed to apologize again for everything that you’ve put the pair of you through. Over and over and over and over and over until you made headway.

He would forgive you. He _had_ to forgive you. He loves you just as much as you love him. It will just take time. Patience. Stubbornness – which you luckily have in spades.

It had all made complete sense a short car and long plane ride ago.

But now, upon hearing he sent John and Bruce away for the simple crime of remaining in contact? What will he do when you show up unannounced? What if he sees you and walks away? If he brushes off your apologies, yet again, which seems to be the more likely scenario, given what you just learned… What will you do then?

You focus on the middle distance, hardly seeing anything of your current surroundings. What if Tom refuses to hear you out? What if you traveled all this way and he refuses to allow you a single word more?

Well – you’ll do the only thing you can do, really: go on to Madrid and attempt to ignore the shattered pieces of your heart that will be slicing your insides into ribbons.

You hardly care what time of day it is, but Richard mentions food again – because apparently, meals are important. He even tries to tempt you with the thought of coffee from your favorite place. You just shake your head, lost in the **What Ifs**.

Your hands are frozen, your entire body humming with apprehension. What if this is it? What if you manage to get it all out and he laughs in your face? You had the audacity to think that you could win any small favors, win back any ground, simply by booking a plane ticket? What if things go well, or seem to for a while, but then the both of you realize that the rift established during the holiday from hell never really mended?

Your fingers may be chilled, but your body and face remain flushed. Even with the AC vents aimed towards you, you feel no relief. This is nerves, a lack of sleep and skipped meals. Richard tries to offer the distraction of conversation but gives up even mundane commentary, finding a classical station and letting the music do the work he can’t manage.

You hold your breath as the sedan approaches Tom’s neighborhood. Through magic, the answering of your prayers, or just Tom’s oversight, the car is allowed through the security gate. Then another series of questions surface: You still have a key to Tom’s place but do you still have permission to use it? Should you knock? Should you try to call, first? Tell him to look outside and see how he reacts? You finger the edges of your phone, remembering all too well how the last conversation went.

Richard turns down the music and clears his throat, only then do you realize the car is in park, the keys no longer in the ignition, the driver’s side door ajar. Richard has the keys to the rental held loosely in his left hand, his apprehension betrayed by the jingling of metal on metal.

How long you’ve been zoned out, contemplating the past?

Richard lifts his eyebrows, “We getting out, or staring at the trees a bit more?”

It’s an attempt at humor, and almost, but not quite, appreciated. You scrunch up your nose and nod, slowly. “I’m working on it.”

You look at him – past him – down to the house that used to make you smile even thinking about it. Nobody has come out, or looked through the windows. Is Tom even home? You could text Bruce or John but what good would it do if he’s not lifted his banishment? It still strikes you as… Insane. Wrong. All of this. He couldn’t stand to have them near all because they were still trying to communicate with you? All because they cared??

“I can, ah,” Richard raps the steering wheel with the knuckle of his right pointer finger, a dull thunk resulting. “I dunno, circle around again, if you want?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your lower lip. “Erm. No. This is… good. Fine.” You wince, still remembering the vehemence with which Tom said that very word, upstairs at your mother’s house. “Whatever. Just.” Waving your hand in a firm downward motion, you try to signal him into silence, “Let me think.”

“You didn’t do enough of that on the plane?”

Clearly the duration of the trip is wearing him down, too. You frown, “No! Fuck! Stop pushing!”

He exhales a hard breath through his nose, lifting his gaze to the street before the car, then up to glance in the rearview mirror. He blinks, and then shifts in his seat to get a better look out the back window of the car. After a few seconds of silence he turns again and pushes the slightly ajar door open further “C’mon. We’re getting out.”

“Richard, I swear if you don’t just… _Just give me a min—ute._ ”

The reason for Richard’s sudden rush to be free of the vehicle becomes apparent when you hear the unmistakable thing you’ve been missing, and your words trail off. Tom. Your heart does a somersault as you turn, seeking out the source of the sound.

When you see them – Tom, and his mother – walking down the sidewalk ever last ounce of confidence as to your actions dissipates into near-nonexistence. Richard is still moving about in the driver’s seat so you reach over to quiet the jangling of the rental car keys, your knuckles immediately blanching with the strain of your hold on his forearm. “Shhh! Richard! Stop!”

And stop he does – so you’re left to listen, and watch, as Tom approaches. 

Though his voice carries they’re closer than you would have expected. If Richard hadn’t spotted them, if they’d spied the pair of you sitting in the car first…. Would Tom have come to the window of the car? Would he have smiled and in that moment reestablish the connection you broke? Would he have simply passed it by, continued towards his house with his mother, giving you the stubborn cold shoulder?

They’re deep in conversation, his arm intertwined with hers. From the mutual frowns you can easily guess the subject matter.

Then you catch his response, his shoulders rolling, her question lost to the wind. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Yes, you do.”

They’re closer, still, and you think for a second he’s spotted you – but – but he must be looking over the car. His attention is on the street beyond – or maybe he’s too preoccupied with the conflict within his head – at any rate his expression doesn’t change. Surprise and recognition doesn’t appear on his face. It’s still a muddle of pain, confusion, frustration, and anger that you see on his features. Yes. Anger is plain to see, even through the purple and scarlet complexion.

You almost jump with the force of his answer, would have if you weren’t frozen in the seat. “I don’t!”

A couple of strides away from being beside you, and then past, and you’re still immobile. _Move_. Get out. **Do something**! This is what you came for, isn’t it? Seeing him? Talking to him? But you can’t. Now that you’ve seen him you can’t do anything more than breathe and continue to disrupt Richard’s circulation.

“I know that heart of yours. And hers.” Diana reaches in front of her body, her actions blocked from view – presumably to tap Tom’s arm as she offers her son advice. “And your plans, darling. What about the ring?”

She does know his heart, and it’s warming to know that she cares enough to think about yours in this moment. Some mothers might choose to ignore all else but the opinions of their own flesh and blood. And then the word hits you, as though a mallet against a gong.

 _RING_.

Plans for the future were always loosely held, a mirage that was only casually mentioned. How many times in total had the pair of you talked about children? About the potential of settling into a normal life? He knew of general daydreams, of future desires, but it was never a focused conversation. Had you taken for granted he knew how much you wanted that?

It’s impossible to miss the bite in Tom’s reply, “What about it? What does that matter, now? What does _any_ of it matter?”

 _RING._ You can’t shake the way it resounds in your head. He’d bought a ring. You blink, once more able to see Richard sitting there in the driver’s seat, waiting to see what you’re going to do. There’s sympathy there as he knits his eyebrows together. Meaning… meaning he _knew_. He knew Tom had bought a ring.

A memory filters forward, a small bit of fun during the period in time when Tom was living with you in LA. The not-wallet. A box. A box containing something significant… and Tom’s reaction to the fact that you’d hidden it.

Oh.

“A future together? She didn’t… that dream is…” Tom’s posture changes, sagging as he shakes his head. “It’s gone now. It’s over.”

Tom had – Tom had been looking ahead, keen on a future spent together – oh God – and you, being you, had destroyed it. He thinks its something you didn’t want! That marrying him was never even something that you wanted in the first place!

 _It’s over._ Two words that puncture deep, but in their finality allow you to be free to move once more. You release Richard’s arm, flexing your aching fingers for a moment before pulling your hands back into your lap. “I – I’m sorry... Can we go now?”

Richard shakes his head, flicking his eyes towards the pair that are almost up the walk, their conversation lost. Soon they’ll vanish inside Tom’s house. He frowns, looking between you and the backs of the two people who the pair of you were just eavesdropping on. “No. Wait. What? You gonna let them get inside?”

Nodding, you only look up for a minute before looking down at your hands, at your bare knuckles, unable to keep from wondering what it would look if there were a bit of silver there – something Tom had picked out for you.

“Yea. I am. This was a mistake.” You close your eyes, still waiting to hear Richard shut his door again. You ball up your hands, turning them so your knuckles are face down so the phantom image of a ring won’t haunt you when you open your eyes again. “You heard him. It’s over. Please, Richard. Let’s go.”

He sighs, but then he closes the door, starting the car again. Richard doesn’t say it, bless him, but you know he’s thinking it because you’re thinking it too. _Flew all the way here to sit in front of the house and then leave. **What a goddamned waste**._

But he can’t blame you for wanting to leave. He heard it, too. Tom’s done. It’s over.

As you drive back through the gate, the guard waving at the car and shouting something you can’t focus on enough to catch, a message comes through from Mark. Subject line: **Statement to press**. Richard doesn’t bother to turn the music back on. You wouldn’t register what was playing even if he did.

You don’t bother to read the message, tapping back a reply without even so much as skimming it. Spelling errors? Who cares. Incorrect grammar? Fuck it. Whatever the PR team says is the next move, fine. Whatever they decide to reveal it can’t make you feel worse than you already do. About your past, about the family dynamic, about what happened during the worst Thanksgiving you’ve ever experienced? Who cares.

_Alright, Mark. Whatever you think is best._

Heavy traffic is slowing down Richard’s progress. When a call comes through you swipe to answer out of muscle memory. It’s only after answering you realize the caller ID hadn’t said **MARK** at the top as you expected, but **TOM**.

“What are you playing at?”

At the sound of Tom’s voice over the speakerphone the car lurches to a halt, and you are thrown forward, the seat belt barely preventing you from crashing into the dash. You glare over at Richard, emitting a short curse before fumbling with the phone. “Fuck! What? Tom??”

“What do you mean, what? You’re here. Then you’re not. What are you playing at?!”

“Playing at?”

“You heard me! Is this payback?”

In the background you hear Diana murmuring disapproval over his tone. Is she the reason he’s calling? She must be. You heard it from his own lips. He’s through.

“Payback?” In your distress you’ve become a parrot. Fantastic. “What?” Richard swerves into another lane and you have to slam one hand forward to brace yourself against the dash to keep from being slung around in the passenger’s seat. Being rocked by the current conversation is more than enough. He called! Tom called you back!! Only to yell, it seems. “Jesus, Richard. Pull over.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Richard speaks through gritted teeth, and starts trying to edge into a space between two cars that isn’t even large enough for a bicycle.

“I don’t know, kill us?”

Tom isn’t done. No, it sounds like he’s just getting started. “Right. Richard’s with you. What was the plan? Send him up to the door with anything I might have left behind? No. I know. Apologize again, but through him.”

“What? No!”

You hear Diana call him by his full name, the sound of stomping, and then a door shutting, his voice gaining an echo. Whatever else she wanted to say to him is lost. Has he walked into another room and slammed the door on her? Mentally you’re searching your knowledge of his house to figure out where he might have secluded himself. Kitchen? No, the echo seems more confined than that. Bathroom. One of them, maybe.

“So it _is_ payback. For leaving. Which I had _every_ right to do!”

You can see him in your mind’s eye, breathing heavily, the paleness of his face and neck growing red splotches from emotion. You shake your head to try to clear that vision – focusing on it isn’t going to help matters, not now. Why had you come? To prove there was something in you – in the relationship the pair of you had developed – that was worth fighting for.

And now this.

But he’s waiting for answers. You need to give him answers, not parroted questions. “I know. It – it may have hurt, when you left, but I know. I understand why you had to go.”

Agreement wasn’t what Tom was expecting, clearly. But his surprise over your response only lasts for a few seconds – it is, at least, all the time needed to inhale and start again. “You understand. Very big of you. It was as much your decision as it was mine. You practically demanded it of me!”

Traffic isn’t cooperating. Richard is still trying to find a way out of the mess. Won’t even be worth the effort. Before he finds the side of the road the conversation will be done.

You breathe out, struggling against the seat belt and the emotions roiling within you. “Demanded it?!”

There’s a thump, the sound of flesh forcefully hitting a tiled wall, or perhaps that was a countertop. “Yes! So again, why are you here? Or – rather – ha,” his hard laugh echoes, the sound far from joyful, “rather, why _were_ you here? Why!”

“I…” You struggle to find the rest of the sentence. _I came to apologize?_ He doesn’t want to hear that, clearly. _I came to see you. I came to tell you I love you, still. I – came to beg you to forgive me for all my flaws? To plead with you to take me back? I came because I had to, there was no other choice._ All of those would be good choices. Any of them would be a decent start. You nearly whisper your answer, almost in tears over everything it summons: all the things you dared hope for that are now lost. “I … heard you. What you said to your mom.”

“What? What are you talking about?” His voice hitches, raising to the higher end of the octave he usually occupies.  

You continue on, the weird feeling in the pit of your stomach spreading. He’d bought a ring, but that didn’t matter anymore. He’d planned a future with you in it, but that didn’t matter anymore, either. He knew his heart, and yours, and decided it was over – decided he was done with the roller coaster of a relationship. He had decided that you weren’t enough, didn’t mean enough to him, to try to fight to hold onto that dream of his. “On the sidewalk. I heard –“

“What did you hear?”

“What you said to your mother!” Irritation floods you as you repeat yourself, almost making you feel human again. The least he can do is let you struggle through your replies! “We were – we were in the car – a car – there on the street when you were returning home. And you and Diana walked past before I knew what to do, and...”

“What to do? Get _out_ of the car! Maybe _say something_ instead of hiding and eavesdropping and then running away from me, yet again!”

That’s all that he can come up with? You’re running away from him. After he said that he no longer wants a future with you. Why on earth would he want you to get out of the car? He said it’s over!

And why all the accusations? You’re running from him, yet again? What about the fact that you flew here? Just a fun little side trip before going to Madrid? Which accusation do you want to argue with first? Eavesdropping? “I heard you! And I wasn’t! I wasn’t eavesdropping! I’m – not. I – don’t... I’m just… Just…” Feeling like you’re freefalling with no safety net, no harness, and no parachute to save you from the inevitable. You can’t shake the memory of what he said.

 _It’s over_.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I’m just trying to do what you want.”

He draws a raggéd breath. “What I want? You think I _want_ to feel this way?”

Nobody wants to feel the shards of a broken heart. You close your eyes, listening to him breathing hard into the speaker of his phone. Nobody wants to suffer continuously, not even those who might use such raw emotions to fuel their performances.

“No, I don’t. Which is why I left.” The words nearly choke you, but you manage to get them out. Richard has finally managed to get the car out of the flow of traffic, a little too late for there to be much point in the maneuver.

“Whatever you think you heard, I didn’t mean it like…”

It’s _your_ turn to interrupt and talk over _him_ , “Yes you did, Tom! It’s a truth you told your mother!” He can’t argue against that. Besides, it’s hard to think of any other interpretation of: _It’s over_.

Silence and static last for two painfully drawn breaths. Finally Tom speaks again, his question low – the calm clearly forced. “What are you going to do?”

You wait, seeking out the answer within yourself. This is torture. Why is he even asking? _How_ is he even asking? Doesn’t he know the answer? You have ruined his dreams as well as your own. You’ve hurt – more than hurt – _destroyed_ the internal landscapes of the both of you. Is there any answer other than the obvious?

Richard is watching you, waiting for instruction. Pull back into traffic and continue on your way? Turnabout and risk further wounds? It would only take a few words. _We’re turning around._  You can see it on Richard’s face, the desire to just turn the car around regardless of what you decide. Damn the both of them. Damn Richard for knowing what you _want_ to do, but can’t. Damn Tom for asking, but noticeably _not_ asking, for you to come back to the house, come back to him. His pride won’t allow him to say what you want to hear, and yours…   

But isn’t this what love is, what it means? Making the tough choice because it’s for the best? You can’t hurt him anymore if you’re not in his life.

Damn the whole wide world.

“I’m going to Madrid.”

Another thunk echoes through the speaker of your phone. He’s hit the countertop again. You can almost see him struggling through this conversation just as you are. His hair is likely wild, at this point, standing on end for how much he’s been running his fingers through it.

He listens to your stifled sobs for the span of a few seconds and then speaks, his voice cracking. “Then it was payback, all along.”

“No.” You wave your hand at Richard, trying to signal for him to start driving again even though you can’t put it into words. Put more distance between you and the man you love. “I’m sorry, Tom, for everything.”

Goodbye hurts too much. It’s too final. Had you even said goodbye in the front yard of your mother’s house? Or had he simply just walked through the grass – or maybe it was down the driveway – to the waiting car. At this point the memory is melding with your embellished imagining of that moment.

Damn the world, and damn doing the right thing. Right now? Right now doing the right thing hurts like hell.

 

 

 


	74. Chapter 74

** **

**S** hould have read the email Mark sent rather than blindly accepting whatever he told you as the best plan of action. Should have known a short statement - a glossing over of the fact you have a difficult relationship with the maternal side of your family - wouldn’t be the end of it.  Couldn’t have been that easy. Not your life. Not your luck. A non-negotiable interview, something following the short statement, ideally meant to shift the spotlight that was shining in your direction. Just Mark doing his job. Not that that knowledge helped to lessen the torment as the questions were lobbed in your direction.

Also? Also another addition to your everyday social circle. Mark lands that on you after the interview, just when you thought you were going to be granted reprieve. Someone else to witness to be granted first row seats to the mess you’re desperately trying to call a life. For all that you battled Mark on having personal security, you have come to enjoy having Richard around, both for safety and for the friendship. Who says, a very very small part of you argues, that the same won’t happen to the newly assigned personal assistant?

The sprawling crew of the Touring Sundays sequel may be based in Madrid but, depending on the day, a small army of cast and crew take over Tres Cantos or Alcala de Henares, respectively. You explore on your off days, Matt doing his best to entertain, but all you can think about is how things ended with Tom. You snap photos, and laugh when it’s proper, but that last conversation haunts you. You hear echoes of it underneath the noise of your surroundings.

_Payback. It was payback, all along._

He probably kept right on loving you, or at least loving the person he thought you were, right up until that moment. He hasn’t reached out, hasn’t asked after you via the ever-complicated relationship maintained by the trio of bodyguards.

Not that you blame Tom for any of it.

Insofar as you’re concerned, you can’t help but seek out any bit of information about him. More than a bit masochistic since you were the one that refused to turn around and talk things out with him, but there it is. You completely understand why it isn’t reciprocated.

Everyone seems to have an opinion. Everyone has something to say, even weeks after. Some call you callous, some accuse you of being shallow, undeserving. Some claim that the pair of you will find each other again. Some say they always knew it would end, and end badly. Some say the pair of you were too different, some say too similar.

Every off day before Richard appears, ready for the morning run, before Matt appears with his lengthy itinerary, you look at the weather and then at the cost of the tickets from Madrid to London. It’s a temptation that you’re determined not to fall to, an end to this Groundhog’s Day madness that grips you.

Just as you refuse to randomly reappear in his life, he too seems to be doing the same. Regardless of your faults and how you treated him, some small part of you expects Tom to pop out from around any given corner. If he did – if he did it would be the end of it. You’d throw yourself at him, at his mercy. There would be no hesitation.

Loving but leaving, walking away, giving him the space to find someone who will love him the way he deserves to be loved… It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

If Tom does reach out for holiday well wishes it’ll be the chance you’ve been waiting for, a natural opportunity to clear the air and maybe even begin to bridge the gulf between the pair of you. Romance rekindled might be out of the question, but a friendship might be possible once wounds are capable of healing. Apologies owed is only the beginning, and you spend longer than probably healthy trying to figure out exactly what you’ll say to him when the time comes.

And yes, it’s definitely _when_ , there is no _if_. Leaving things as they are is impossible. There will be no healing if you don’t address it.

The next problem to figure out is what to do about Christmas. The previously made plans, spending it and New Years with Tom, are definitely off the table. Alternative plans are scarce. You don’t want to disrupt your father’s holiday and _definitely_ won’t be spending another moment at your mother’s. Opting to remain abroad is the only thing that seems to make any bit of sense, though it creates problems all its own. Richard had already promised his sister and nieces that he would be home for Christmas on the notion that you would be with Tom.

“It’s out of the question. You can’t just stay in Madrid, on your own.” Holiday music is blasting in the background. Your father must be out last-minute shopping for something for your soon-to-be-stepmother.

That’s the other reason you don’t want to spend the holiday with him, and the reason you haven’t invited him to spend time with you in Madrid. Maybe another year, maybe another time when life isn’t so very complicated.

“Like hell.” You shift in your chair to reach the mug containing the remnants of your morning caffeine spike. Not much left, and mostly cold, but you swallow it down regardless. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

“That’s not my objection, sweetheart, and you know it.”

“Uh-huh.” You eye the thick layer of something at the bottom of the mug and set the porcelain thing aside, scrunching up your nose for a moment. You flick your attention around the décor of the room, trying to imagine introducing your father to the culture here. It would be an experience, that’s for sure. You try for a smile, but the edge of your mouth doesn’t quite hold the expression. “Andrew did offer to have me, but I told him no.”

There wasn’t any temptation to even consider going home with Andrew to celebrate with his family. Not only would you be battling the time zone difference but you’d also have to contend with a resurgence of the rumors that there was something between the pair of you. Definitely something to avoid. Particularly now.

“And Matt?”

You make a non-committal noise. Going with Matt would be too close to what you should’ve been doing, what you wanted to be doing. And would open up the potential for accidentally running into Tom. If it’s not what he wants, if he doesn’t want to see you – which he clearly doesn’t – the last thing you want to do is blindside him.

Your father doesn’t make you stumble through further explanations. He clears his throat, “Well, then. I’ll rearrange some things and I’ll just have to tell…”

“You won’t be telling anyone anything but Happy Christmas when they’re opening presents with you under the Christmas tree at home. I’ll – I’ll figure something out. I’ll – I won’t spend it alone.”

“Hmmph.” He makes the sound that indicates he isn’t happy with you, but doesn’t argue the point further.

That’s another thing in his favor, why you’ve kept up the daily phone calls. After expressing his initial displeasure over what happened between you and Tom, he hasn’t harped on the issue. It’s hard enough dealing with the knowledge that Tom had bought a ring, presumably wanting to propose, without having those that remain close to you remind you of that fact daily.

Hopefully Tom was able to return the ring without too much hassle. Hopefully he isn’t having to keep it around as a reminder of how everything went to shit. At least it wasn’t his fault that everything went wrong. There had to be some consolation in that.

An incoming message makes itself known and you hold your phone away from your ear long enough to see it’s from Mark. “I’ll um – gotta go, Dad. Talk to you tomorrow?”

He murmurs a goodbye and suddenly you’re left to your thoughts again, a quiet room with the sounds of the surrounding city not helping in the least. Mark’s message can wait a minute or two. Then comes another, forcing you to scrunch up your nose and reengage with the world.

_Colleen is due midmorning. Richard is picking her up, along with the selection of dresses. Last chance to renege. Just let her know what you decide. And look at the scripts she’s bringing._

Time doesn’t stop for a broken heart. You tap back to scroll through the previous messages, more about Colleen and her new duties as the go between for you and Mark. A personal assistant. It means you’re moving up in the world, but at what cost?

You continue to scroll, idly filling time as you wait for your guests to arrive. And… and the dresses. Mark’s final warning, or offer, of backing out of a prior commitment, something accepted in better times. It’s – it’s an appreciated gesture but you’re going. Yes. You’re definitely going to the awards show in January. _Not_ going would provide opportunity for tongues to wag anew… and it might very well be the first and last opportunity for you to see Tom and clear the air between the pair of you.

It only takes Matt a half hour to appear after hearing your news about the imminent arrival of the newest person to be introduced to your life. He nods as he slouches down into an impossible-to-be-comfortable position in the overstuffed chair meant to hold guests, but that has been home to your luggage since your arrival to Madrid. He nudges at the bag he unceremoniously plunked to the floor, “Maybe she’ll motivate you to unpack. If only for appearances sake.”

It was a comment probably meant to make you laugh. You make the obligatory noise, certain that you’re not fooling either of you. Faking normality only works on those that don’t know you, or for those who’ve been living under a rock and aren’t aware of the recent turbulence in your life. But – well – the presence of someone new in close proximity might just motivate you to try a little harder.

You scoot your bag across the floor. “For the record,” you hazard a look at him, well aware of the smug expression now glued on, “this isn’t because you’re right.”

Matt shakes his head, forcing a solemn expression into place. He almost manages to cover the pleased smile. “No. Course.” You can feel his focus on your back as you approach the dresser, and then sidestep to the closet to shove the entire bag into the small space before shoving the door closed again. His chuffed laughter helps you find a smile. “Hey – that’s not unpacking!”

Turning around, you wave your hand in his direction, able now to hang onto the corners of the small smile gracing your lips. “Yep. But I’ll put it all away later.”

“Or keep saying that till…” He wobbles back dangerously in the chair before allowing it to tip forward again, lending a falsetto to his voice. “– ‘whoop flying home again so there’s no need!’”

Is this annoyance that it was a bit of a temptation, or the poor quality of his impression? “Oh, come on. I don’t talk like that.”

He chuckles, nodding. “But you _were_ considering leaving that bag hidden in your closet until you fly out again. Am I right?”

He’s leaning forward, absolutely dying to hear the word yes. You roll your eyes, your words coming out less sure than you feel. “No. Just don’t want to be caught halfway through unpacking when they get here.” The noise he makes in response makes it clear he doesn’t believe you. You shake your head, indignant. “I’ll do it tonight and send photos as evidence! Not like I’m going anywhere anytime soon.”

The triumphant smile on Matt’s face falters before falling away. Your try to hang onto yours, if only to reassure him. He achieves something that isn’t quite pity, but dangerously close. To make matters worse he has that look of one’s choosing with words with care. “I heard – our third told me he asked if you wanted to spend Christmastime with him and you said no. And you’re not planning on flying home?”

Another day, another time, another person ago you would have taken offense at his tone. The woman talking to him today just shrugs, not wanting to witness his expression change but unable to figure out where else to look. So much for having this one safe space. Why is everyone so concerned with your holiday plans, anyway? “I figure, why battle the jet lag?”

“Because it’ll be Christmas! Nobody wants to be alone on Christmas!”

You wince. “Dad had plans. And I’m _not_ going back to Mom’s…”

“Right. Yea. No.” Suddenly he’s squirming, more so than usual. “But you’ve other options, you know. Other than staying here, I mean.” He nods, clasping his hands before pointing them towards you, “Laura! She said you’re responding to maybe one in five texts, but – you could always join us! We’d love to have you. I’d love to have you.” Matt swallows, blinking and screwing up his face, squinting one eye at you while his face holds an expression that only he can manage. “Aaah, it would mean London. Buuuut if that’s not a problem. Come to London? Spend Christmas with me. Us.”

London. Tom’s city. That doesn’t have potential for disaster written all over it. Or potential for something good…

No isn’t immediately out of your mouth, not like it had been with Andrew. His request had won an immediate hot bark of laughter and shake of your head. But Matt asking – you’re actually considering it. Hell, maybe by the time Christmas rolls around you’ll have figured out a way to begin mending bridges with Tom. And then – tada! – there you’ll be.

You knit your eyebrows together, then shift your facial muscles to try to erase the frown as you consider his offer. It will appease Richard and Mark, your father…. And possibly your aching heart. “Let me … let me think about it?”

He nods, allowing the conversation to shift to the mundane. Lines and other recent changes to the dailies that you’ll need to memorize. The constant battle of hydration and boredom. Why oh why does it always seem that the weather is perfect for all sorts of things when you’re working, and then dreary on the off days?

Those types of things, those conversations, you can easily navigate, even as Matt’s offer twists and twirls within you. What is there to even think about? Stubbornly wanting to stay in Madrid just because you’re afraid of potentially running into the man you’ve made an ex… Really, what are the odds of that happening?

Not half an hour later you’re up to answer the door, stepping aside to allow the strawberry blonde and the bundle of garment bags accompanying her, your bodyguard perhaps hidden somewhere underneath the pile, into your room. “Umm, I thought we narrowed it down further than that…”

“So did I.” The stack of bags shift as Richard turns to make sure the door is shut and you catch a glimpse of your bodyguard. He smiles, eyes landing on you for a brief assessment before moving on to search out the stranger that had accompanied him. “But Colleen said…”

“You seemed uncertain and so we decided to bring a few more, just to be safe.” She has stopped, coming to stand near you rather than venture further into the room. Similar to the bulging garment bags, Colleen’s messenger bag seems filled to the point of overflowing. Scripts for you to look at or just personal belongings? Neither of the pair are carting any additional luggage, so it’s feasible they paused to allow her to drop off some of her things before coming to your room. Curiosity helps you to playact normality.

“Um. Oh. That’s fine, good. Um. Hi, by the way.” Of course she knows who you are, but you can’t help but properly introduce yourself and do your best to be a decent host as you welcome her into the room, and your life. You hold out your hand, not quite ready for an introductory hug.

You’re missing something going on between Matt and Richard over by the closet. Richard is attempting to hang up the garment bags and Matt – Matt is either trying to help or trying to make a sly escape and leave you one less buffer between you and the outside world. Giving up on squeezing the bags into the closet, Richard reroutes to lay them across the sofa Matt recently vacated. You may have missed whatever small bit of conversation passed between them, but it’s impossible to miss Richard’s lingering glance at your still-packed bag now sitting in the floor of the closet and Matt’s shrug in response.

Guilt – or is it annoyance – stirs within you but you try to ignore it. Colleen hasn’t been in your presence for more than five minutes. Please please let the illusion remain a few minutes longer. You’re a woman with her life together, not one struggling to keep it from falling apart. You try to return your focus to your new personal assistant, “Did you have a good flight? Oh! Have you eaten yet? We could order something up? Or if you wanted to rest…”

You wince as the final offer sounds more like you’re trying to get out of doing any of the things you promised Mark you’d do upon Colleen’s arrival. He didn’t expect her to launch right into shoving scripts at you, did he?

Or maybe he did.

She begins to pull her messenger bag off her shoulder, nodding and shaking her head alternatively, “Oh, I’m good. If you are, I mean. Internal clock’s a mess cause I slept on the flight and Mark definitely wanted a few things signed off on. But food…”

Your own stomach emits a growl at the thought of sustenance, and you can see in her face how badly she wants a meal that isn’t separated in squares on an airline tray. You smile and turn to find Richard already seeking out the room-service menu. “Food.” You sigh as you take the menu from Richard and hold it out for Colleen to peruse. You know most of the things by heart already, at least insofar as what you’re willing to order. “And then, by all means let’s keep Mark happy.”

“On that note, I think I’ll be off.” Matt seems keen to escape, now that he’s put eyes on your new personal assistant and assured himself she’s real. You’re tempted to stick out your tongue and say: _Ha! See! I wasn’t lying!_

But – speaking of happy – the happiness of others, and possibly carving a bit of that elusive emotion for yourself…. “Wait, Matt? Not staying for food?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He shakes his head.

Quickly. Quickly before you can logic yourself out of it again. You call out. He’s nearly out the door. “Matt?” You wait till he’s tilted his head, curious as to why you stopped him. “Christmas? London? I’m in.” All the other decisions and fine details that remain ahead of you, at least this one is now off your shoulders.

He grins broadly at you, his eyes lighting up. “Excellent!” His excitement isn’t enough to keep him around for food or conversation. There’s plenty of time to figure out the arrangements. He’s trying to leave you space to get to know your new assistant. He waves as he turns towards the hall, “I’ll see you on set, Sunday.”

So London. London at Christmas is happening, just like you’d planned before things went sideways. Except… expect with a different man. Your heart skips a beat, then another.

Wasn’t this supposed to get easier with time? Missing Tom. Getting over Tom. _Is_ there any chance you can get over him? Do you even want to try?

You look towards the open closet door and let your gaze fall to your bag, still packed and ready for a spur of the moment trip.

Colleen has paused her study of the menu, and has turned to give you a quizzical look, “Um… he knows tomorrow is Thursday, right?”


	75. (or rather 74.5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special half-chapter presenting Tom's POV.

** **

**T** he words, here in black and white before him, would have made him stumble had he not already been sitting down. In the same disbelieving breath they rile something in him, and he feels a flush growing up his neck.

Honesty! The truth stripped away for the world, but not for him?! He asked! It had been all he had asked of her! And here, here she, she allows it to… _everyone_.

He tries to shake himself loose, free of the heart, of the tightening in his chest. What is the point of indulging this pain, frustration, and anger? To what end?

He bats it away, swatting at it as though it were a bug buzzing at the edge of his awareness. It remains despite his efforts. The best he can hope for is that it will eventually become part of the white noise enveloping him, part of the fuel he burns through to get through the day.

Tom rearranges himself, shifting his hand so that his palm covers the glossy pages of the magazine. It does nothing to wipe the words from existence. It’s too late for that. They’re printed. Recorded. Spoken.

Spoken.

He closes his eyes, her face immediately greeting him within his subconscious. She doesn’t appear to him as he’d last seen her – eyes rimmed in red, pain hollowing out her features. She’s not warm and laughing, either. She’s solemn.

The room fills in, innocuous details that don’t matter but he can’t help imagining. The pattern on the rug at her feet. The arrangement of the chairs, carefully situated for the meeting. The bright light emanating from behind the one conducting the interview, aimed and at a wattage that washes out her complexion, just enough to erase those freckles that dot across her cheeks.

Why had she agreed to this? Why!! Why could she do this, but not speak to him?

He shouts it at her, his single word question, but she doesn’t turn. It’s a figment of his imagination and should be able to make her do as he pleases, but she refuses to look him in the eye, refuses to acknowledge him. Even in his head, she’s so damned stubborn!

> _I can’t speak to that_.

His heart does a flip, her voice seeming less an echo and more like they’re sharing the same space. He should force himself out of this, blink himself back into reality, peel the pages of the magazine from his sweaty palm and putter around his house…. But he doesn’t.

Instead he watches as the words on the page spring from her lips. They didn’t transcribe her natural pauses, but he knows her, knows exactly how she would have delivered the phrases.

> _I – don’t know it’s my place, and it’s certainly..._

A frown ripples over her features before she gains control again, a light wave of her hand all the motion she allows herself. Refusing to fidget. Only allowing herself three places to swivel her focus between: a spot on the table, a corner of the room – presumably where Mark sits watching – and the interviewer. She starts again, and Tom leans forward, as though that would make her voice stronger and less likely to warble.

> _I was wondering, the other day, I guess maybe this is as close an answer as I can offer? About love, and resilience._

There, she blinks away from the interviewer seated before her for all of an instant, and looks in his direction. Her gaze strikes right through him. It takes Tom a second to remember he isn’t really there, or rather,  _she_ isn’t really _here_.

> _How many times can you give away pieces of your heart? Before there’s nothing left, I mean. We offer up – we offer all these pieces of ourselves to those we love. And I can’t help but think about the damage we do in the process. Not to ourselves. That’s, that’s not what I mean. What I mean is – I finally stopped focusing on all that I’d offered up. I looked into my hands and finally saw how many pieces of himself he’d given in return and how much harm I’d caused.  I just couldn’t…_

Tom’s anger tips him out of his imagination, tossing him back to the quiet of his home with his heartbeat roaring in his ears and feeling as though he’d been caught tilting his chair backwards too far and lost his balance. Words, so many words that revealed so much more than anyone had a right to hear. Anyone save him, anyways.

Why. Why now? What was different **now** than when he had asked it of her?

The magazine is wrinkled, pages creased from the moisture from his palm and the intensity of his grip on the thing. He heaves a sigh and sets about smoothing it out. Still, the words call to him. He can’t help but read the next bit aloud, his voice hitching and breaking.

> _Love isn’t supposed to be so destructive, you know? We aren’t supposed to end up so bloody._

Bloody. She’d opened the door with a single word and they’d pounced.  

Thanksgiving. What happened to the couple that left LAX intertwined and smiling?

> _What happened – if I can just put it all to rest – is on me. All of it. It cost me. Well, it cost me a lot. And I’m doing my best to learn from my mistakes. It was a mistake to go, to think that being there with my step-siblings could end any way other than how it did._

Tom lifts his hand to touch the tip of his middle finger to the place on his lip, now healed over. The bruises to his person might have faded but those suffered to his ego remain.

Not only had she spoken so freely of things that only existed between the pair of them, or _had_ , but also answered **point-damned-blank** questions posed about her family. About what happened at Thanksgiving!

The columns of black text keep him captive. He wants to just stand up and walk away, leave the magazine in a heap on the floor. His focus jumps across the article, once again pulled to the position of his name, bolded, taunting him. Will he ever get to read the article in its entirety from start to finish? Does he even want to? He grits his teeth, tightening the muscles of his jaw as he rails against all of it – the whole damned situation. Why can’t private matters be private?


	76. (Actually Chapter 75)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _How does one begin to go about getting over heartbreak? Friends, coworkers, and work all serve as distraction, up until they’re not. Your thoughts accompany you no matter where you go, no matter what the setting. Then there’s the fact that you don’t WANT to get over the heartbreak. Not really. But what you want, and what life deems ok for you to get… Two very different things._

  


The spirit of the season surrounds you, yet the cheer of the season can’t quite take hold of you, as it has in years past. There’s something missing… and not just those whose company you’ve come to accept, even enjoy. Despite the company, despite the décor, and smells, and songs… They waited as long as they dared, but Colleen and Richard eventually had to get on the plane back to LA, or risk being stuck away from their respective families over the holidays. They waited until there was less than a week till Christmas, until there was no foundation for their arguments to stay, until there was a single day till you and Matt were due to travel the route that has called to you every time you let your guard down.

After that it was surviving a few hours alone with your thoughts. One night, one sleepless night stood between you and London. Pacing couldn’t quiet the noise in your head, and holiday carols were ineffective in drowning out your thoughts. There was no pretending that things were as they had been before the success of Touring Sundays. Try as you might, there’s nothing that can convince your mind or your heart the old times have returned.

In the chilly dawn as you cart luggage alongside Matt you try to pretend that the ache you feel has nothing to do with Tom, or your destination, and everything to do with the weather. In your head London is still Tom’s, much like your heart.

All the more reason to go, right?

All the more reason to pray that there will be an accidental meeting, to make it so that the last words exchanged between the pair of you weren’t accusations. You can’t hope for more. Well, you can, but you know you shouldn’t.

You finger the edges of your phone throughout the trip, unable to tap out the sequence itching to by typed in and place the call. The timing has to be right – no, perfect – isn’t that what you’ve told yourself every say since those horrible few days at Thanksgiving?

Anyway… What would you say to him if he answered, now?

None of the answers supplied by your brain really suit: – _Happy Holidays –_ which is entirely too cheerful – _I’m sorry –_ which just serves up echoes of the last series of conversations the pair of you shared which would inevitably lead down the same horrible path, and failing everything else, the basic – _Hello._ A final goodbye would be torturous but it needs to be done. You owe Tom so much more than you gave him. You’d made up your mind to wall him off, shut him out, before he’d had the chance to ask you to leave your mother’s house.

You do your best to be a good traveling companion to Matt, to keep a smile on your face and a light laugh ready on your lips. To his credit, Matt doesn’t say anything though knowing well and good it’s all a ruse. He’s spent enough time around you to know when you’re being genuine. You’re glad of the necessity of winter weather gear, your bundled-up scarf providing a place where you can dip your chin down and hide the frown that slips out, becoming a staple of your features when you give them the freedom to fall where they may.

You’ll survive this. You’ll muddle through the heartache until the day it doesn’t hurt quite so much. You can’t help but think that maybe it would be easier if the man who is absent from your life really was absent. If he wasn’t so well known – if his face wasn’t on billboards and magazines and… It’s hellishly hard to get over someone you’ve loved so fiercely when you can’t escape their sphere of influence.

But then, getting over him never was a goal you thought you’d ever have to work towards.

“I hear Laura wants a girls day out…”

You arch one eyebrow up as you lift your head in Matt’s direction. After hearing that you’d accepted the invitation to join her family for the holidays, yes, your old friend had requested a few hours with you – a few hours without her brother hovering. You make a noise of acknowledgement.

Matt rolls his eyes upwards, mock affronted, “Excluding me after _I_ was the one to do the inviting?” He tips his chin back down, leveling his eyes to meet yours. “I am, if we’re being honest, doing my best to imagine what those hours could entail.”

A genuine laugh bubbles up, the result of his theatrics, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “Oh come on, Matty. It’s just a bit of time with a little less testosterone keeping me company. Anyway, aren’t you sick of me yet?” How many days of seeing each other on set – for the first film and now this one. How many days on the publicity tours.

“Never, Sunday.” He reaches over to pat your knee, suddenly unable to hold your gaze. While your smile has grown as a result of the exchange, his seems to have faltered. “Never.” In the next blink he’s back to bouncing in his seat, boisterous as ever as he claps his hands together. “Alright. I’ll allow it – but on one condition.”

Always cautious against agreeing to a thing before hearing demands, you hem out your answer. “Mmmm, and what’s that?”

“Winter Wonderland.” When you arch an eyebrow at him he continues on, explaining what exactly Winter Wonderland is. “Holiday lights! And oh – the food stalls.” He tips slightly in his seat as he bobs with excitement. “Mulled wine. Spiced cider.”

You continue to eye him cautiously. “Sounds like you just want to go for the food. What do you need me there for?”

“Company!” He points at you, squinting one eye shut, managing an expression that is almost but not quite a wink. “Me and you, just like old times.”

Just like old times. Your entire being falters for a second, but you do your best to recover, acting as though it were simply a hiccough rather than an almost overwhelming rush of pain radiating from your heart. You push past the feeling, determined not to be that woman for a little while longer. “What, you’re going to make the family stay at home? No spiced cider for them?”

“Nope. And no churros either.” He grins as you roll your eyes because he already knows what your answer will be. He knows it, but dork that he is, he’s drawing it out. Neither of you want to acknowledge the fact that he’s trying so hard to entertain you because the alternative is an all too serious conversation. Much too serious for a train ride with so many observers. “There’s an ice-rink, too. If you’re so inclined. Who knows, you might even have – _fun_.”

Fun, he says. Sucking in a bit of air through your teeth you shift in your seat before answering. “Alright. But only because you promised me wine and churros.”

“Eh? When did I promise that?”

But he does make good on his promise of fabulous light displays and all the stalls of food, and fun, yes – even a little fun. Settling against a railing and looking out at the way the lights glitter on the water of the river, you consider what it is that Matt has offered you. Yes, it has been company over the holidays, but it also more than that. For a little while, you’ve just walked around bundled up against the weather and enjoying an evening out with a friend. No pressure of the job, of lines needing to be memorized, of places you need to be and time you need to squeeze out of nowhere. Your past had faded, only to come rushing back as soon as awareness had sprung up.

Quickly as that, the magic of the evening evaporates. You’re back to being the woman that had dug in her heels and watched the love of her life leave her. The surrounding festivities become a buzz in your ears, the consumed food and drink a fuzzy taste in your mouth. Is this what you wanted? Is this the life you’d dreamed up all those years ago?

Gloved hands offer up a steaming double-layered cup in exchange for the three-quarters of the way consumed bit of bread and chocolate. You sniff, the exposed tips of your fingers pressing more firmly to absorb some warmth. Matt had said something that you hadn’t quite caught. “Hmm? What?”

Matt smiles, chewing and swallowing before daring to repeat himself. This time his muttered words are loud enough that you have no trouble hearing them, and flinching, too. “Nothing. Just, well, um, what can I do? How can I help?”

You’d been doing so well. You adjust your grip on the source of warmth cradled in your hands. What can he do to help? Doesn’t he mean what _else_ can he do? The twirls of residual heat are escaping from the lid on the mug. “Help what?”

He nudges your side gently. “You know what.”

When you force your eyes up, away from your hands so you can look at him, the happy expression is gone from his face. You need him to be smiling. One of you needs to be smiling, damnit. “Take out my heart and replace it with another?”

Matt ducks his head to the side, the edge of a smile betrayed by the dimple appearing on his cheek. It’s there for a moment, just for a blink, and then it’s gone. A laugh, or huff, shakes his shoulders but you don’t hear evidence to know which of the two it was. “How about something that doesn’t require a medical license.”

You wait until he’s looking at you again before you respond. The weight of what he’s asking is written all over his face, seeps out of his posture. Unlocking your fingers from the cardboard cup, you reach out with your right hand to press your fingertips against the chilled leather that is bunching oddly for the bulky sweater layered beneath. “You’re doing it. You’re helping by being here with me. By being my friend.”

He nods, a hesitant shallow thing at first, as though he were having trouble swallowing, then gives his head a firmer shake and turns away from the waterfront. Looping his arm through yours to carefully spin you about, with his free arm he motions towards the rows of stalls, “Right, then. Another something before we head back?”

If you eat another bite you’ll pop, and you haven’t decided if another sip will take your borderline buzz into the arena of full-on-buzz or not, or if that’s necessarily a bad thing. You still haven’t brought the cup in your hands to your lips. As you consider his question your eyes catch on someone wandering in the crowd. 

If Matt hadn’t turned you in that precise moment, if he hasn’t asked a question to make you study the stalls, you never would have seen them. Had you kept your back turned you wouldn’t briefly be wondering if someone’s dumped a bucket of water over your head. Then comes the rush of heat, and with it the urge to run forward, leaving Matt puzzled and standing close to the water’s edge.

Tom’s family. A brother in law, one of his sisters, their little one, and finally your focus pulls back to the person that had caught your attention to begin with: Tom’s mother.


	77. YOJA 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Holidays are, without argument, one of the worst things to face in the aftermath of a bad breakup. Spending time with family would have made sense if some of them weren’t part of the reason for the heartbreak. Remaining abroad and spending a little time rebuilding yourself had been your plan for surviving Christmas and New Years, up until Matt had offered a trip to London to celebrate with his family. A solution to satisfy all parties involved; your father, Mark, Matt, et al. And it was a solution that was working, helping you to forget your heartache for a little while, up until spotting someone familiar in the crowd._

**W** inter Wonderland at Hyde Park. Going with Matt was a way to make amends for spending a day out and about with his sister. The ‘girls day’ had been a much needed thing, but you  _had_  accepted  _his_  invitation for the holidays, not hers. You may very well be friends with them both, but at the time fair had only seemed fair.

You’d known the risk of saying yes to spending the holiday in London. Hadn’t you hoped for some sort of happy accident? Hoped to run into Tom?

Still, you’d gotten caught up in the lights, the festivities, the food. It had always been a favorite time of year. You’d let down your guard and then — there, there not twenty people removed, was a familiar face. Tom’s mother, and so far you’ve only spotted one of his sisters, along with her husband and little one.

Only one thought follows as your brain commands your body forward:

Where is Tom?

Is he here? Is he with them? Just not wandering through the crowd with them at the moment?

Tom. Where is Tom?

As Matt becomes aware that your silence isn’t tied to considering his question about the vendors – additional food is so unnecessary, so unimportant in this moment – he belatedly notes the direction in which your focus is frozen. You’ve left him behind, already in the process of putting one foot in front of the other as Matt speaks to your back, “Oh! Isn’t that…”

Sarah is listening to the little one chatter, and then nods, leaning for a brief public display of affection before her husband heads off in the opposite direction, child in tow. That will save from explaining yourself further, but you can’t help but feel a pang of loss at the lost opportunity of a hug from each of them. You’ve fond memories of the little spider monkey running to greet you.

Assuming there would be hugs. Sarah had been hostile for a time during your first encounter with her, owing to what you put Tom through before and your lack of faith in him. If she’d been frosty then, what must she think of you now? What must the entire family think of you, now?

That line of thought almost slows your steps. Almost. Neither Sarah nor her mother have seen you. They wouldn’t know of the opportunity to reconnect if you just veer off and avoid them. Nobody would need to know about the near miss. Hell, you could just turn around and return to Matt.

Matt! Matt, your host here in London who you promptly forgot about the very moment you saw Tom’s mother. After a half-heard comment, did he follow? Will he witness the train wreck up close? Or did he remain rooted to the spot, to stand alone and watch from afar?

You’ll find out soon enough.

Your feet draw you closer still.  Any moment now Sarah or Diana will turn and notice you. Any moment now their gaze will fall in your direction, pass over your face, and recognition will dawn. Any moment now you’ll see that quick procession of expressions. Familiarity that will darken into dismay. Any moment now they’ll –

You’re doing it again. Getting ahead of yourself, nearly letting your assumptions spin wild tales.

Mother and daughter pull you in – but where is Tom? You still haven’t spotted him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t somewhere close at hand. He might have ducked away, attention caught by the wares in a shop. Or maybe he’s sheltering someplace warm and due to meet back up with the group as soon as he can feel his extremities again.

There is every chance that today, right now,  _this_  moment is the moment you’ve been waiting for. All you need to do is seize it. Attempt to make things right again. And you’ll say, you’ll say….  _Tom I’m the biggest idiot in the entire world please forgive me my faults_ – or… No. That’s too many words to potentially jumble into a misunderstood mess. No. Simplicity will work the best. You can’t muck that up. Right? Just one word, a single word you hope to one day be able to utter in his presence:  _Please_.

Sarah turns, her mouth popping open as she does a double take and then quickly tugs at her mother’s jacket, drawing Diana’s attention from whatever they were previously discussing. There’s no stopping, now. Momentum is built. You’re locked in to this course of action. Committed. You try to offer up a smile, try to look hopeful, and try to disguise the fact that you’re unable to keep from scanning the crowd at their backs.

Is Tom there? Is he here?  _Please. **Please.**_

Ten paces away from the pair and you’re no closer at guessing what the next step is in your plan. Is there a plan? You saw them and started walking. Brilliant. What was it that Tom used to say about making plans? No – no that’s not a good line of thought at the moment.

Ok. Plan. The plan is: say something. No goldfish imitations. Alright, it’s a start, but what are you going to say? The first words out of your mouth can’t be:  _It’s nice to see you but where is your son?_  And what are you supposed to do with the drink you still have clutched in your hands? Fuck! What if you spill it on someone? What if you spill it on Diana? Diana – who is lifting her arms and reaching out towards you. She wants a hug! She’s – she’s not looking at you with disgust, nor anger. Hell, you wouldn’t have put it past either of them to turn and walk away the moment after they saw you but here she is  _smiling_  and beckoning you to her.

“Diana, I…”

You get all of two words out before she’s pulled you into her arms, giving you a warm squeeze and talking over you even before she’s held you away from herself again, “Sweetheart! What a surprise! I can’t believe….!” Your attempt at a careful half-hug is useless. She’s enveloped you in a hug not unlike many you’d received from Tom, in the past.

Oh – there’s that pang of loss, sharp, striking in the middle of your being with such force your knees almost buckle.

“I’m so sorry.” The three words come out strangled. Inwardly, you chastise yourself. That’s definitely not what you wanted the first full sentence spoken to be, or to sound like, the first time you saw them again.  _If_  you ever saw them again. But, well, there is it.

“You should be!”

Well, that stung more than you thought it would, another blow deep within your core. Being fair, you really had expected something along those lines in terms of reply, but you  _hadn’t_  expected her to sound so… so… fucking cheerful about it. Cheerful? Maybe not that, but right now the moment is too much to push too fully analyze. You’ll have plenty of time to do that after insisting that Matt drag you to ever single bar he knows between here and home.

You stand stiffly in place, held firm by Diana’s grip. Her initial reaction had been a ruse to get you closer. Damn. Fuck. Now what? Your heart is doing a tailspin as Diana releases her hold. You’ve got mere moments to register the loss of her arms around your torso before she grasps your shoulders and gives you a singular shake. “I’ve been so worried!  _We’ve_  been so worried.”

Wait.

What?

“Worried?”  You can’t quite make sense of the sentiment, and hear yourself repeat the word another time only to find Diana and Sarah nodding at you. Worried? Worried about you? You’re the liar! You’re the one that broke Tom’s heart!

“Oh sweetheart. Yes! Oh, it’s so good to see you. It’s so good to put eyes on you!” Her arms are around you again as you absorb this new information.

Your jaw simply refuses to do anything but hang open, leaving you to gape at the passersby. She’d wanted to hear from you. They were worried. At least for the moment even Sarah seems to share in that feeling. But what should you have done, what  _could_  you have done? Call them? Isn’t that overstepping the boundaries? Calling the family of your ex certainly must fall into that category.

How are they not furious with you for what you did? For what happened because of you? Does this mean that there’s hope for you and Tom? That singular thought bolsters you out of the shock of the moment to try again to spot the head that typically stands above the rest of the crowd – the Hiddleston family member you so desperately want to see.

The longer the little group stands here blocking foot traffic, the higher the chances he’ll come seeking them out, right? You hold your breath, sending up the umpteenth silent prayer that you’ll blink and he’ll be standing there. If only you had such powers. But stranger after stranger pass the group by, a few curious or annoyed gazes offered up. No Tom.

Sarah’s featherlight touch, just overlapping her mother’s grip on your shoulder, wordlessly tells you what you’re coming to realize. Tom’s not here. You don’t have to be ready to flinch at the narrowing of his eyes. There’s no need for the worry that you won’t be able to word-vomit enough before he spins on his heel and stalks away, vanishing once more into the crowd.

You swallow, suddenly glad for the way Diana hasn’t let go. Who knows what will happen when she finally releases you. Will your atoms unanimously decide they no longer like this particular configuration, allow you to dissipate and roll away as though a low laying fog?

Forcing yourself to look back at Diana, into the face that holds so many similarities to the man you love, you wonder what to say next. You start by shaking your head. If you could, you’d probably give her a small shrug of your shoulders, too. “I’m – I didn’t mean to make you worry. I, um, I just, I didn’t want to make things worse?”

Diana narrows her eyes, another expression you’ve seen mirrored in Tom’s face so many times before.

Don’t start crying in the middle of the winter festival. Don’t make this into any more of a scene than it already is. Don’t do it. Keep it together. Keep it together! Most might attribute the red nose and eyes to the cold, but having a breakdown in a public area is something you want to avoid at all costs.

Just about the time your throat begins to close – breathing? What’s that? – Diana lifts her gaze over your shoulder, fliting her eyes between you and Matt, seemingly trying to judge how much she can say in his company. “Worse?  Oh sweetheart, after hearing about your family, and everything that happened?”

The article about your relationship with your step-siblings and the Worst Thanksgiving Ever? You never even considered giving her a call after that. She’s Tom’s  _mother_  for fuck’s sake! Surely she would have taken his side in the matter.

Sarah chirps up, drawing a low cluck from her mother, “Asking  _him_  was a nightmare all its own.”

They’d tried to pry information from him and consider the experience a nightmare? It’s as though you’ve effectively become stone. You very well could be another permanent feature of the park… something would probably irk Tom to an infinite degree upon making that discovery.

Of course, they had tried to ask him what had happened, beyond the bits and pieces they could puzzle together. Their family is close. Everyone suffers a degree of dysfunctional but he always swore they were there for each other when it counted. After the initial fury filled debriefing did he fall into silent brooding? What would constitute him being a nightmare about it?

Slowly life comes back to your limbs. Oh yea, you’re doing a pretty good impression of a goldfish. Now for sound, sound that isn’t a sob. “….Oh.”

The moment your small utterance is loosed, Diana’s eyebrows dart upwards. “Oh! No. No. We don’t mean—” Again she glances aside at Matt, and then over at her daughter – each of them standing on either side of the pair of you – before focusing on you again. “How long are you here? Darling, if you’re staying through Boxing Day you have to have tea with me.”

_Darling._

Oddly enough, that’s what gives you access to your words again. “Oh. Diana. No! I couldn’t. I…” You look to Sarah for help – and while she’s making a face at her mother, she’s not arguing against the idea. Damn. Looking to Matt doesn’t help either. He’s a bystander to this train wreck and staying well clear of the wreckage.

But that’s a thought. An out. “Matt was kind enough to invite me so I wouldn’t be alone over the holidays and, and…”  _That_ particular bit of information doesn’t help change Diana’s expression for the better. Her frown deepens as you muddle on. “And then we’re going back to set until the awards back in LA and I don’t… I can’t. I’d love to, I mean, but… What would Tom say?”

Tom, who was a ‘nightmare’ when they tried to ask about you and she wants to invite you over? Invite you out? It’ll be bad enough when he hears of this chance meeting, won’t it? If he’s being a nightmare, even to his  _mother_ , what will he say if he finds out you’re actively trying to spend time with her? The lines of communication will open up again, only for you to hear him rage against you. You should write a book. 101 Ways To Make Him Hate You Even More

Diana purses her lips, her hands finally leaving your shoulders so that she can place them firmly on her hips and complete the look of motherly disapproval. “My son’s opinion doesn’t govern my every action, and it certainly shouldn’t yours.”

Suppressing the urge to look down in contrition and say –  _yes, mom_  – takes a surprising amount of effort. You blink, absorbing her words as best you can.

Damn what Tom thinks? Damn what Tom thinks. Diana wants the opportunity to see you again, talk with you again. Maybe even hear your side of what happened. You can’t deny her that. She could potentially have been your mother-in-law.

You’re already starting to nod, even as you drop your gaze to the lid of the cardboard travel mug still clutched in your hands. It’ll be – even if it’s just to say goodbye and relay just how sorry you are for the way things turned out – it’ll be a good thing. It’ll help bring closure to this chapter of your life. Maybe some of it will filter through to Tom, eventually.

Forcing a smile as you look up again would be stupid because she’d see right through it, shaken as you are right now. Honesty was all Tom ever wanted from you. Honesty is everything, the only thing, you’ll give those you care about from now on.

It’s not until goodbyes are said and Matt has lost the argument for the imbibing of another few beers that you realize you never clarified your presence alongside Matt. Mentioning that the pair of you were costars was one thing…

So, then, so very late at night, the first form of communication reopened with Tom’s mother is a drunk – and rambling – text:

_// I’m here with Matt but not **with**  Matt. It’s not like that. We’re just friends. We get on well. Not that it matters but it matters. Because Tom.  //_

As is the case with drunk texts, you immediately wish there was an unsend button just as soon as you hear the swoosh of the message being sent. Sometime later, as though you didn’t count every single second of the ten minutes that pass –  **one-Miss.is.sip.pi-two-Missus.ippi-** **three-Misérable-four** – until Diana responds, you get a reply that helps to loosen the knots that had formed in your stomach.

\  _I know. Now go to sleep. It’s 3 A.M.  Happy Christmas Eve Eve darling. \_

Go to sleep, she says. Sorry. Can’t do it. Too much to think about. Too many trips to the bathroom to take as well, for one reason or another. Not to mention the fact that every time your phone so much as beeps you’re twitching in anticipation of it being Tom. Hours have passed since the accidental meeting with his mother and he hasn’t gotten into contact. How many different ways can you read into that?

So many. There are so many answers as to why he’s maintaining his silence – some instilling more hope than others – that it keeps you preoccupied even through Christmas Day, when you receive well wishes from Diana, from your own father, and mother, and various friends from around the globe…. But still nothing from Tom. Hard to keep an open mind, especially considering the looming meet-up with his mother.

It was so difficult to focus on much else that the first thing out of your mouth on Christmas morning when Matt and Laura had greeted you was – “Merry Happy!” – something that they simply refused to allow to be forgotten throughout the day and into the day after. Though you’d quickly corrected yourself, the damage was already done.

As you prepare to leave to meet up with Diana, Laura gives you a quick hug and once again tries to offer up soothing words. Matt of course seizes the moment to pop into view over his sister’s shoulder and give his own version of support: an attempt at a laugh. “Don’t forget to wish her a Happy Merry!”

You heave out a breath, rolling your eyes at him. “That was yesterday. It was Merry Happy. And fuck you, too, Matty.” But it had won him a smile, which you  _think_  was the point. Armed with that ghost of a smile, a bundle of nerves hidden within, and wrapped to ward off the cold weather, you make your way to the spot where Diana wanted to meet.

She’s there waiting, already seated at a little table when you arrive. It prompts an early apology to your lips even as you quicken your steps to close the distance between you and her table. Another apology as the start of a conversation. You’re oh-for-two now, and this well could be the last time you see her. That thought only makes you leave off struggling with the loops of your scarf and shake your hands in frustration as you draw closer. “I’m sorry, I hope you haven’t been waiting long?”

“Not long at all,” Diana stands and pulls you into a hug of greeting, reaching up to brush her fingertips against your cheek as she steps away again. The chill from the weather is still evident, helping to slow your heartrate a little. “I was early. Time enough to settle us a table, darling.”

And there’s that word again. One day, maybe, you’ll be able to hear it and not consider it  _his_  word. Which brings you to your next concern. Is this a setup? Has she invited the pair of you to the same place and is planning on leaving – let the fireworks explode once she’s safely away?

She seems to sense your thoughts and nods to the only other chair at the table as she reseats herself. “And you needn’t worry. Tom doesn’t know we’re here.”

You keep your eyes focused downward as you carefully pull your fingers out of your gloves, shoving the dark knitted things into your pocket. Easier to hide the mixture of feelings that stir in response when you’re not meeting her gaze.

There’s relief – you’re relieved, to be sure – but there’s also a sadness upon hearing she hasn’t told him. Does he even know you’re in London? That she’s seen you, first at Hyde Park and now for a second time?

You bite your lip before replying, “I see.”

“Do you?” Diana waits for you to lift your eyes to meet hers, where you can see she’s lifted her eyebrows in expectation of your actions. “I won’t pretend to be an unbiased ear, but you’ve been through enough. I hope you know I’m here for you, in whatever capacity you will afford.” She emits a sort of chuffing noise, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “So long as middle of the night messages aren’t a regular thing.”

The heat of embarrassment is still tinging your cheeks as the waiter arrives. Under Diana’s gaze you realize that a coffee and muffin will not suffice. She orders first, with the practiced air of a longtime patron, and then it’s your turn… but what to choose? When you’re probably not going to do much more than pick at the plate what do you order? Oh hell – the very next thing your eyes focus on, on the menu – that’s what you’ll order.

Pancakes.

Alright. Pancakes it is. And coffee. Always coffee.

Diana continues once the waiter has vanished with the desired requests. “We don’t have to talk about my son.”

“No. It’s alright.” You shake your head, then shake it again, the action surer this time. “No, I mean. Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. It’s alright. I mean I  _want_  to talk about him. All I get are watered down remarks from Richard. And even then I know those have been fed to him through John and Bruce, who are doing their own version of editing. Which is…”

Frustrating. They’re doing it because they want to protect you from further suffering, but when you’re courageous enough to ask about him then damnit, you want to know the truth, not just what others think you can handle. What was it you said to Richard during one of his attempts at being gentle?  _I have eyes, Richard! I see the things being written! The things being said!_

And the things that have gone unmentioned as well.

Even after running your mouth off during the behind-the-scenes interview, something that made Mark’s eyes bulge – and then you had to try to ignore his twitching for you to  **stop** , even then there hadn’t been a peep from Tom or his team. You’re still not sorry for doing it. You’d needed to set the record straight, felt it within every fiber of your being: the need to end the speculation that Tom had done something wrong. None of what had happened at your mother’s house was Tom’s fault. None of it.

Diana is watching you, seemingly sympathetic. Fuck knows how she’s doing it, but she’s here and listening.  _Caring_. “It’s - that’s just not the same thing.”

Exhaling, you pause to worry at the inside of your lower lip. Nothing is the same as being able to see him. How lucky you had been, before, to be able to study the way his mouth moved, the way his head turned, the way the corner of his eye twitched, and be able to know even a fraction of what was going on within. Sure, sometimes you’d been absolute shit at guessing, but sometimes you’d been spot on.

“I just. I hope he’s, um.” You shrug, struggling to find the right word. O.K. seems like the silliest thing to say, considering.  **You’re**  certainly nothing even remotely close, even though you’re trying like hell to find your way back to the same planet as O.K. Taking a stab, you scrunch the right side of your face up, squinting that eye shut. “Managing?”

Diana smiles, nodding ever so slightly. “Yes. Just like you.”

_Just like?_ Well that’s hardly reassuring. You attempt to return her smile, freeing your bottom lip from between your teeth before replying. “I’m getting there? I think. At least, I’m definitely doing better than I was right after. And –“

The words are lost as soon as you realize what you just said. She saw the immediate after effects of the fight that broke out at Thanksgiving. She saw the bruises on her son’s face. She got to watch the technicolor effects as he healed, and got to help him through everything you’d done to him. Fuck. Well done you, for walking the conversation right into the very thing that will make her sympathy evaporate.

You jerk your knee upwards, quickly uncrossing your legs in preparation to follow suit if she suddenly stands. But Diana doesn’t move. The table between you jumps from the force of the impact of your kneecap – and more than a few of your fellow patrons turn their heads, curious about the commotion. You can’t focus on that, though. Just Diana. “I’m such an idiot. Diana, I’m so sorry for what happened. If I’d known that… I  _never_ would have taken Tom to see them. Of all the ways to get to know the family!”

Diana catches the pepper shaker before it topples almost into her lap, setting it between you once more before reaching further – not to collect the salt shaker but to grasp your hand. “I know, darling. I think we all wish that holiday had gone a bit different.” She releases you to be able to sit back in her chair again, most of the curious onlookers settling back into their meals again as well. “But that’s life, isn’t it? We can’t control everything that happens to us. And why would we want to? Some of the best things happen by chance. How we react, that’s what counts.”  

If that’s what counts you’re not fairing all too well. Poor choices, poor reactions, have led you to this very moment. For all the bad there have been good moments, too. That’s why you need to see Tom again, not to apologize one last time – though hell, it couldn’t hurt to do that, too – but to thank him.


	78. Part 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Matt’s stubbornness prevented you from staying in Spain to celebrate the holidays alone. London had always been the original plan, only two differences: a different man, a different family. But then when does life ever go according to plan? Then you run into Tom’s family at a winter festival two days before Christmas. It certainly wasn’t the encounter you were expecting. Contrary to what every fiber of your being tells you — they don’t hate you. If only you could say the same for the ever silent Tom._

**T** he wind seems to have more bite after leaving the little shop, after leaving Diana’s presence. It could as simple as the fact that you’re walking the opposite direction, but… but you know that’s not the whole of it. The goodbyes exchanged were bittersweet, laced with assurances that you would stay in touch with her, and she you – promises that you both knew would eventually be broken. Her loyalty to her son will win out. Time will also fade the bond, nearly maternal, that had been established between the pair of you, just as it had marred the one that had existed between you and Tom. But no, time wasn’t to blame there. No, that was all you, ruined with a considerable measure of flair.

You shudder at a wave of internal disgust, pretending it to be just the result of the wind whipping at your layers of clothing. Tugging at the topmost wrappings of your scarf doesn’t quite do what you’d hoped. Rather than providing more warmth for your throat it allows the wisps of cold air to reach further.

Why hadn’t you gotten a to-go something to help hang on to the residual mood of the meeting with Diana? You could have grabbed a little coffee, or tea… You could still turn around, delay your return to Matt’s family home, return to that little shop and find something to savor. Slowing your steps, you hold your arms closer to your body as you contemplate your next move.

Richard would have foreseen this moment. He’d already have you by the elbow, guiding you back around with a laugh and exaggerated, faux-impatient eyeroll. Hopefully he’s enjoying being home for a little while, spending time with family that he hasn’t seen in several weeks. You’re more than familiar with the strain it puts upon one’s soul when all you see of a loved one is their face, or hear their voice, via proxy. Digital renderings never do anyone justice.

Save, maybe, for Tom. Even catching a glimpse of him… You emit a short noise of discomfort at the dual emotions – pain and longing, both – and shiver again as another burst of cold air attempts to sweep you from the sidewalk.  You sidestep to edge closer to the building in an attempt to block the wind as you fight your way through your stymie.

Nobody will be thankful if you return with a cold.

_Thankful_.

Right. That was Diana’s driving point as the waited for you to pick your way through your pancakes. As difficult as it is at the moment, you need to stop focusing on everything that went wrong in your relationship with Tom and try to remember some of the things that went  _right_.

Diana had hinted, heavily, that he would be free until it came time for rehearsals for the awards show at the end of January – free and in the area if you felt so inclined as to reach out. You  _could_  ring him up and see if there’s any hope of thanking him for the good things. Filming for you will resume January second, but you’ll be in London through the start of the new year. That’s plenty of time to figure out a day that would work.

No. No, you shove your hands back into your coat pockets and give your head a small shake. One ruined holiday this year is more than enough. You’ll leave him to enjoy his, and you’ll do your best to enjoy the remainder of yours. You need time to get your thoughts together, anyway.

Your plan, then? The awards show, since he’s confirmed to be attending – not just attending, but presenting. You only need a few minutes, just a few minutes to bring closure. Yes – the end of January gives you plenty of time to figure out what you’re going to say to him, and hope like hell it’ll make the ache in your chest begin to lessen.

Dodging a group pushes you further towards the building, towards the large pane of glass of the display window. You’re frowning. Best to wipe that expression off your face before it gets caught and preserved. Not that you’ve been spotted yet, mercifully, but the way your life has been going you give it all of a few hours before someone begets the rumor that you’ve just gotten your ass chewed off by Diana for breaking Tom’s heart. Not at all difficult to believe considering it was what you were expecting from her the moment you spotted her in Hyde park.

The buzz of your phone in your coat pocket is a welcome distraction, but being barreled into is not. You’re, what, a few blocks from the desired entrance to the station? You could very well wait until seated on the train to check and see who it is, but patience isn’t something you possess at the moment.

It could be Diana, true. She was adamant that you let her know you got back alright. She worries, still, despite everything, particularly since you’re wandering London alone – something that will probably make Mark and Richard purple in the face. Could be one of them, as well. Or even Colleen with updates regarding your schedule and things she’s been told to clear… Perhaps Matt or Laura checking up? Wanting to know how it went with Diana?

Or…

Then comes the thought that freezes you for a moment, more thoroughly than the outside temperature, and causes your heart to skip.

Tom. It could be Tom unable to hold his silence after hearing from his mother. It’s what happened last time – sort of. Last time the response from him had been a call… a call and angry accusations, things that still circle in your head.

_What are you playing at?!_

The fucking jacket pocket won’t give up ownership of your phone. You fumble, fighting against the chilled wind and your numbed digits, not giving much mind to your surroundings. Let them pap you battling a tempest from within. They’ve already given you all sorts of colorful names. What’s a few more? Let them say what they want about your life and your lack of this or that. If this is Tom reaching out you need to answer it immediately. Forget the plans about leaving the last of this year to nurse your respective wounds. Maybe this is the chance to —

You finally get the phone free of your layers of clothing and illuminate the screen.

Not Tom. You release a breath, blinking in rapid succession and pretending the sting of tears threatening to form in the corners of your eyes is the result of the dry air. You look up at nothing in particular – glancing past your reflection in the shop windows – almost tempted to laugh at the absurdity of all of it.

That surge of hope you felt… Why? Diana may be hanging onto hope just as firmly as you are, but somewhere deep within you know the practicality of it. You know full and well he isn’t going to reach out. Not again. Not after everything you’ve put him through – not even to rant, or tell you off for visiting with his mum.

You pull your January plans back into place as you shake your head, turning your attention back to the screen of your device and the all too familiar name upon it.

CUMBERBATCH  
     _Happy Holidays! Since you’re in London: plans for NYE? Last minute I know but if you’re interested… Swear its not a setup! No tricks. Just friends and good fun._

Just friends and good fun. Funny, cause the moment you read the second sentence you were sort of hoping it  **WAS**  another setup. Again with the hope. It elicits another small groan from you.  **IS**  it actually hope, or denial?

If it had been an attempt at getting the pair of you in the same spot again it certainly wouldn’t get the same reaction from you as it had before. Maybe this time it would have been Tom turning about and going the opposite direction, leaving you to be the one giving chase.

But no. Not a setup. Just friends and good fun.

Is it wise? Maybe not. Even with Ben in a happily committed relationship it’ll undoubtedly fuel rumors that The Battle of the Brits is on again. Vacationing with Matt isn’t helping matters. You feel the frown on your face deepening once more.

You look up, letting the sourness of your expression sink in as you take the time to study the woman reflecting in the glass. Who is this woman? Certainly not you, at least – not who you want to be. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the scowl, you finally look past your reflection, noting one of the dresses displayed in the window. Sequins of champagne and gold dot the material, catching bits of light from the overhead display and shimmering.

It’s sort of… perfect.

You know what? Who the hell fucking cares about The Battle of the Brits… about any of it? It’s your life. Romantically it certainly can’t get any worse. Friends and good fun fits right in with what you need at the moment. It’s why you decided to take this small vacation with Matt, right? Hard to argue with the feeling that a dress to wear to a New Years party just appeared right in front of you.

You tap back a reply, a smile testing its hold on your lips. Surprisingly, it sticks.  _Sounds good. Better than packing for our return to Spain._

A party is also 1000% better than holding up indoors and undergoing the strenuous back and forth with yourself over staying put vs calling Tom, vs once again showing up randomly at his house. That last option would hardly get any consideration. You remember all too well what happened the last time you tried that.

Matt and Laura haven’t really pushed for anything in terms of plans to celebrate. They might already have something lined up. Well, now, so you do.

As soon as you step into the shop Ben sends a follow-up, inviting your current hosts, as well as sending directions and time – and swearing you need not bring anything. You should  _probably_  tell Mark and Richard that your quiet plans have altered slightly. But then maybe what they don’t know won’t hurt them. You’ve been ok so far, right? The universe isn’t entirely aligned against you.

The brief stop to try on and buy the dress doesn’t delay you too much by your estimation, but judging by the way Matt opens the door you’d have thought you took a three hour detour. Clearly worried, his eyes drift from your face to the shopping bag you’re carting. “You….” His focus lifts again, concern evident as he hesitates through his sentence, “alright?”

Maybe you should have called after parting ways with Diana. “Yea. We had a good talk and –”

“So that’s not retail therapy?” Matt motions to the bag you have hooked over your arm.

“No,” your smile brightens again as you shake your head. “No, it’s a dress. For a New Years Eve party that we’re all invited to, if you don’t already have plans.” Barely inside the door and you still haven’t cleared anything up, judging by Matt’s expression. “Benedict sent a text as I was walking back to the station. And I saw the dress and figured – why not?” You pause after shrugging out of your coat, half turning to be able to look at him again, “You don’t already have plans, do you?”

Matt scratches behind one ear, stepping aside to let you pass. “Well, no. Wasn’t sure what you’d be up for.”

The concern you understand. You’ll have to go into details regarding your meeting with Diana, probably. You’d probably feel the same in Matt’s shoes, caught off guard by the brightness of your return after such a meeting. Is he wanting you to continue to struggle with your emotions or does he not want to go to a party?

You yank at the scarf you’d looped around your neck, “I know I was worried before going to meet with her, worried about what we would have to say to one another, but really… I know it’s not going to last but…” You pause, trying to catch his eyes and adequately assure him that this is you, coming to terms and trying to move forward. “Knowing is so much better than guessing, than imagining worst case scenarios. And having plans feels like I’m taking control again.”

“Ok.” He seems to be fighting against a frown, his features still flickering between confusion and a controlled concern. “Ok. So…” He lifts his eyebrows, shaking his head and giving a small shrug of his shoulders, not really finding the words he wants until you’ve started up the stairs to deposit your new dress in your room. “So you’re ok and we’re all invited to…” He hesitates, “Ben’s?” He waits till you look back and nod before continuing, waving a broad hand at you and your new purchase. “Ok. And this isn’t just… stubborning your way through things?”

It’s a fair enough accusation. You rally and find a half-laugh within you, “No. This is progress. This is – ok maybe me being a little stubborn,” you glance over your shoulder as Matt emits a bark of laughter, “but in a good way! I’m going to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks. And just, live my life. Be thankful for what I have.” You spin on the ball of your foot as you reach the landing, facing Matt and giving him the brightest smile you can manage. “And right now what I have is a pretty party dress and an invitation to wear it on a night out with my friends.”

  


[ _TL:DR —— blah blah blah Tom is still not with us blah_ ]


	79. Part 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously in YOJA: _Christmas with Matt, and now New Year’s Eve spent in London with both Matt and Benedict. If you didn’t know better you might think that they were deliberately trying to keep you in and around the city. But you do know better. Honestly, at this point you’re willing to accept whatever help your friends might offer in the hopes that your life will bounce back and begin to resume being something akin to normal._

**T** he little heaters on the patio are running full blast and taking some of the chill out of the air if you stand close enough, allowing Ben’s New Years guests to have a little fun with sparklers before running back inside. You wouldn’t have expected such out of doors festivities in London at this time of year, maybe back home, but sparklers are undeniably a New Years activity and a welcome surprise. Another welcome surprise – arriving to find Villy answering the door alongside Ben. At least someone within your social circle has found happiness in love.

You hold your sparkler, your own shard of light, careful to keep the brilliant burning thing from touching any of the other guests nearby. It would be easy to become mesmerized by its brilliance but that option is dangerous. Dangerous, too, is focusing too hard on where you were at this time last year. Had you been working? Asleep? Out with friends, or no? So far as you can remember you were enjoying a semi-quiet night… certainly not hiding-but-not-hiding from friends, the very selfsame friends that had invited you here. You close your eyes as the sparkler continues to burns towards it’s end, sending up a silent few words into the night sky:  _God, may the new year be better._

Better? It’s so easy to let your failed relationship with Tom overshadow everything and turn your entire concept of the year to shit. But… but this current moment you’re in isn’t bad, certainly. Ok you’ve been nursing a wounded heart lately, that doesn’t mean the whole year should be discounted. There had been trials throughout, sure, but it started on a high note and built from there. Winning the award? Meeting…

Tom.

He isn’t here, which stirs up a curious blend of reactions within you. You haven’t had quite enough to drink to put on a brave face and continue the conversation with Benedict, asking after Tom. He swore his invitation was on the level, that it hadn’t been a setup to try to get his pair of friends in the same place at the same time. Maybe later. Maybe never. Maybe fighting against your heart is too exhausting right now.

Hopefully Tom is with his family, or perhaps out with a few old friends and enjoying the night just like you are… You exhale, fighting off the stab of sorrow that you’re not celebrating with him, and refocus on your sparkler. It’s gone out. Time to head back inside, then, seek out another drink and find Villy, or Laura, or Matt, or Ben, and count down the time remaining of the year. Without Tom.

“Tom.”

The mention of his name slows your turn from the pile of spent and discarded sparklers. You’d heard it come from inside. Was someone greeting him? Is he here? It had only been spoken the once. Not an echoed chorus of salutations. Maybe it was your mind playing tricks, brings Tom’s name to your ears through the smatterings of chatter and laughter of the guests as though a phantom ringtone in a crowded room.

No. No that wasn’t it at all. Someone nearby is talking about your ex, sending a jolt, a chill, and a spike of adrenaline running through you all at once. No, it’s a conversation behind held near the open door connecting the house to the rooftop patio. Slowing your steps, you shallow your breathing and listen for all you’re worth cause you  _know_  the pair speaking, thinking their words are masked by the surrounding party: Matt, and Ben.

“Yea, talked to him yesterday.”

“Yea?”

Benedict makes a low, rumbled noise of affirmation. “Mmmm.”

There’s a brief pause during which you wonder the wisdom of standing just between the edge of warmth radiating from the building and the edge of the warmth provided by the outdoor heaters. You feel the threat of goosebumps beginning to rise on your arms but stand firm to hear the exchange, all with the hopes that you won’t be discovered.

The pair have both been drinking, as has nearly everyone else in attendance, yourself included. You saw each of them earlier with some sort of beverage, respectively. Maybe they’re still at it. Maybe they’re eating. Or maybe they’re pausing to allow someone to pass them by before continuing their conversation… or rethinking the conversation entirely.

“I half feel responsible.” Matt emits a rueful almost-laugh.

Or not. Your heart can’t decide if it wants to slow down or speed up as you fight between holding your breath or breathing all too quickly.

“Yea? Yea. Same. What a fucking mess.”

What sort of conversation is this for a New Years party? Where is the joviality? Leave the train wreck of your love life for another evening!

Ben continues on, “But, but we couldn’t have seen …”

Matt fires back, doubt clear in his voice, “No?”

“Knowing them separately doesn’t mean much. People are too complicated.”

This time the laugh that reaches your ears is hard, not the typical happy sound that Matt emits by any means. “Granted…. And yet.”

Again Benedict allows himself a grunt of agreement, “And yet.”

There is another pause, maybe when each of the men are beginning to realize what type of conversation they’re having. It’s an opportunity you should be seizing – any reasonable person would be seizing – to make your escape, or in the least you should be starting to edge away from this grey area of eavesdropping. Aren’t you trying to put a new, fresh,  _happy_  foot forward? What the hell was the point of accepting the invitation to the party if not to surround yourself with festivities, and fun, and friends?

The next time Matt speaks, you nearly jump after coming close to losing yourself to your internal argument. “You ever get the feeling that she deserved…”

“That she deserves… more?” Benedict takes a stab at finishing Matt’s thought.

Matt answers to his own end to the sentence at the same time Benedict finds his choice word, “Better.”

God. The bravado on the pair of them.

“Yea. Yea, I do.” Benedict agrees.

Matt’s words are starting to pick up pace, gaining a little more emphasis behind them. “He loved her.”

“Without a doubt.”

“Yea, but did he actually love  _her_?”

“Or the woman he thought she was?”

These are your  _friends_! These are  ** _TOM’S_** _friends_. You feel the sharp edge of irritation creeping through you, your jaw aching a bit with the force you’re using to grind your teeth together. Fuck! With friends like these… Part of you wants to announce your presence and start defending Tom. Part of you wants to just say fuck it to the remainder of the year and leave. The fact that you  _aren’t_  making it known to the pair of them that you’ve heard every word, the fact that you aren’t telling them off for thinking so poorly of their mutual friend is telling in ways that turn that spike of annoyance into something dangerous. It means a part of you agrees with them, and that anger that you feel is rooted in the fact that you didn’t see it, or simply refused to acknowledge it, until now.

This is the problem with eavesdropping. Never does turn out well.

Picking a fight minutes before midnight will just ruin everyone’s evening, and that’s no way to ring in the new year. You inhale and give your head a small shake. So what’s the plan, then? You can’t risk storming through the doorway, not with the pair of them so close…. And definitely not so close on the heels of that conversation.

Think of something else. Let the anger and tension recede. You shift on your heels to turn and look out at the view.  _Beautiful. Cold. Tom._

Ugh. Ok. Try again.  _Sparklers. New Years. To…. morrow… Big Ben. Bene-dick at the moment._

Giving in to the anger isn’t helpful either. Something benign.  _Pineapple._ _Cantaloupe. Watermelon. Tom._

Can you find that party-goer self of yours within your internal landscape, from wherever she ran off to, get yourself another drink, and meander through the smattering of people you don’t know until you find Villy and Laura again? Is that possible?

Standing so far from the heaters, but not quite in the warmth promised by returning inside, the cold has found you. Some of the smarter guests on the patio had gotten their coats before venturing out. Not you. You’d promised yourself a quick transit from one spot of warmth to another. As goosebumps begin to run from your wrist up to your elbow you give up and take the final few steps towards the almost open door. If Ben and Matt are still standing there and notice your cold manner you can attribute it to a need of another layer. Yes, a need to retrieve your own jacket – if not all your things – is what is in order.

Benedict is gone from view when you reenter the room, probably with Villy since you can’t immediately spot her either, and Matt has turned his back to the patio. Good. Easier to avoid the potential for a blowup. Too many emotions have been whipped up from the eavesdropped conversation, and still writhe within you. Best not to take any chances. Snag your things and whisper an excuse to Laura and… Is it better to try to slip out like this? Really? Or are you once again choosing the easy way out of things, choosing to run from something rather than face the issue.

“There you are!” Matt’s voice comes at your back. You’ve been spotted. Clearly you weren’t moving through the mass of people quickly enough. He appears at your side with enough speed to make you jump as he lightly bumps into your shoulder. He’s got two champagne glasses, offering you one as he speaks, none the wiser to your attempt at masking your emotions, “Here you go, for the toast!” 

“Mmmhmm.” Your smile feels tight, but the offered drink gives you an out and you take a sip of champagne while you stamp down on the urge to spit words at him, just round on him and tell him off regarding his feelings about Tom.

Matt laughs, his eyes sparking on yours for a moment, “Or for now.” His focus is already off your face again, scanning the room as he slips his arm through yours. “I think… yes. Laura’s just over here. Tried your mobile but then she started vibrating. Ha!”

“Yep.” The reply doesn’t come quite as light as you want, so you pitch your voice up in tone to compensate. “Found a fault in the perfect party dress. No pockets.” That’s right. Even if you  _had_  successfully claimed your jacket you still would have needed to get your phone from Laura.

“Pockets, pockets. The complaints always come down to a lack of pockets.”

Banter, that’s something that has always come easily between the pair of you. You’ll just – do your best to sidestep of your conflicting emotions and pray that there’s enough going on during the remainder of the party that you won’t slipup before it’s time to go home.

Home.

Maybe it’s just because of location, for the fact that you’re in London, but the first place that springs to mind is Tom’s place. Vividly, as though it was just yesterday that you were there, you see a flash of the front entryway as it leads into the living room. You take another long sip of your drink as Matt continues to propel you through the gathering of people. Tom’s place isn’t home. Tom isn’t home. London. Isn’t. Home.

But is L.A.? The place you’re currently leasing, it’s not quite home, either. Not anymore. Everything factors in, not just the simple fact that Tom once shared the space with you. Home should be a place you’re comfortable, not battling phantoms of moments past.

Does this mean the new year holds another house hunting adventure? Won’t Mark be excited. Or maybe he will. Finding a place that better fits his new security standards might actually please him. Richard will probably be keen on it.

And if Los Angeles  _isn’t_  home… where is?

That, right there, that simple hesitation would probably make your father dance with glee, just for the fact that you’ve paused – even for a moment – and have considered leaving LA. Not that leaving LA would necessarily mean stepping away from the career you’ve established… At least the idea of your father fist pumping and hopping from foot to foot in a mini-circle knocks loose the image of Tom’s house from your mind.

It’s all the alcohol in your system. Yep. And polishing off this glass of champagne will help matters, right? You consider the remaining bit of drink while absently letting Matt’s guiding push steer you forward through the other partygoers. Finishing the drink won’t hurt in the short term, and certainly couldn’t make matters much worse.

“Oh!” Laura’s face is hard to read when she finally spots you being led by Matt through the room. “Oh, he found you. Did he tell you your mobile’s gone off?”

Your heart does a flip even as your mouth goes dry. You try to lick your lips, or swallow, anything to encourage speech, but nothing comes. You start to reach out to accept your phone from her but pause in the action to stare at the champagne glass with just a swallow or two of liquid remaining. No. No, Matt had been too busy getting drinks and then badmouthing a so-called friend. You scowl at the glass and then turn that same frown on him. Your voice is level, and low, as you reply. “No. He didn’t.”

Matt looks from you to his sister and back, a micro-frown fluttering into view between his eyebrows. “Errr….”

Laura moves closer, prying your glass from your grip and whispering as she pushes your phone into your hands. “I don’t think it was…” She pauses when you stiffen slightly, knowing the name she’s about to say. “Mmmm… I’ll grab our jackets? If you want me to step outside with you? Too noisy in here to hear anything.”

“No.” Now that you have your phone in your hands you can see that there are several missed calls, and several more text messages. It takes a bit of effort but you wipe all expression from your face before looking up again. “No. It’s Dad. Well, and Richard. And Mark… among others. I need to make a few calls. Wish everyone…” You swallow and force a smile, force the happy-party-goer expression into place. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Predictably, people have found that the smaller room where all the jackets are being held makes a nice place to escape from the rest of the gathering. With another reassuring half-shrug-half-nod you wave to Matt and Laura and then duck out the front door. Just walking out the front door doesn’t quite do it. You can still hear the festivities going on, the sound merely muted by the barrier. It’ll do for a quick call to check in. Assurances and well wishes. Yes, you’re having a good time in the city. Yes, you can’t wait to resume filming again. Yes, you’re really very excited for what the new year will bring.

At the end of each call you’ve somehow traveled a little further from Benedict’s door. After ringing off with your father you realize you’re almost to the street. One gate and then the sounds of the party will be all but masked by the sounds of the city.

You study the gate for a moment and then look back, considering the door and the people held beyond – friends and strangers, both. It’s a night meant for mingling, for frivolity, for celebration and laughter – but oh how nice it is out here, in spite of the cold. It’s almost peaceful, all things considered. The city hasn’t stopped moving, not tonight. So many people are making last minute runs to be somewhere else.

Somewhere else, with someone else.

Back inside isn’t where you really want to be at the moment. You give your head a small shake, telling the door  _no,_  you won’t be using it again tonight.  

There’s no one in there that can’t wait till tomorrow.


	80. Part 78.5

_FIVE!_

_FOUR!_

_T H R E E!_

_T  W  O!_

**_O   N   E!_ **

**_H  A  P  P  Y     N  E  W     Y  E  A  R !!!_ **

 

As you get older it really does get harder and harder to stay up partying to ring in the new year. Drinking helps in the moment but then if you’re not careful you end up regretting it in the morning. Or afternoon. Whenever your body deems it decent to return to consciousness.

Doesn’t mean anybody stops dancing, or drinking. There’s usually confetti or glitter, too… something that gets stuck to the sweat that is worked up out on the dance floor and then you’re doomed to find evidence of the night for days afterward.

There’s the buzz from the jacket pocket again. Nuh-uh. All family and friends have been squared away. All well wishes have been issued. The well is used up, bone dry. Whomever it is can wait.

Yep. They can wait. For all of a minute.

Tom reaches up to swipe a damp palm through his now tangled curls, and then drag his hand down over his face. The stubble that can no longer be considered a day or two past needing a shave grates against his skin. The last thing he wants to do is push through the crowds to find somewhere he won’t be jostled and see who it is trying to get into contact.

There goes his mobile again.

“What.” His voice rattles around in his throat but hardly reaches his ears. A call would be pointless. Besides, he really has gone through the entire list of friends and family…. “What, what what?”

The few close friends that had finally talked him into a night out are visible, a dozen or so odd paces away so who…  _who?_

He wobbles with the movements of the crowd as he tries to pry the bit of tech from his pocket.

_BEN_

Ignore

The screen lights up again before he has a chance to pocket it again.

_BEN_

“Wh…”

Four missed calls and now another? He never felt the others. Or maybe, no, maybe he had.

Benedict had issued an invite for the night, but he’d declined. The invitation had come with a warning: she was invited, too. They still haven’t spoken, not since that day at her mother’s house. What more was there to say? He’d asked a simple thing. Choose.

And she had.

He waits, counting the seconds before the designated number of rings will pass and Benedict will be forced to leave a voicemail. Five missed calls now and no messages left until this point. Curious.

No. Not curious. Is this Ben calling to check up on him? Make sure he’s not home alone? Maybe he should pick up and let good-old-Benedict hear the thrum of the music. He’s out. He’s out and having a grand time, thank you very much. Everything’s fine here.

_Fine_.

Her word.

Tom swallows, pressing the button to again ignore the call and then quickly shoving the mobile back into his pocket. Fine. Fine, fine. It’s all fucking  _fine_. After at least ten minutes of sporadic buzzing against his hipbone he gives in, waving his mobile at his friends before finding an exit.

Fourteen. Fourteen missed calls. And a few assorted texts that begin benign and proceed towards threatening. What was so important about answering his phone?

He jabs the call button and waits, the sounds of the club at his back mirroring his pulse. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn his jacket all night. This isn’t heatstroke – not even close – but damn it actually feels good to step out into the cold. Benedict answers within two seconds of Tom initiating the call, and only gives Tom enough time to inhale before speaking.

“About fucking time.”

“What?”

“What, what? You’ve been ignoring my calls!”

Damn right. Ben had his own party, his own guests to attend to. Tom huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at the pavement beneath his feet before speaking, “I’m out, mate. No need to check up on—”

Benedict cuts him off, “Is she there?”

Tom blinks, pulls his phone away to look at the screen for a moment and then hold it back to his ear again. Which of the pair of them has had more to drink tonight? “Is who where?”

“You know who. Is she there. With you?”

“What?” The cold is starting to annoy him, or he’s actually starting to feel it. He tucks his free hand up under the arm that holds the phone aloft to attempt to keep the digits warm. “No. Why?”

There’s a slight pause and then Benedict emits a curse, his words becoming muffled with movement on his end. “Shit. She’s not there.” There’s a background conversation going on. Questions regarding location, accusations that are too distant or muddied by further background noise to make out. More movement and words that are clear once more, “Have you heard from her?”

“No. You know I haven’t. Not since…” Tom takes a breath, so many different reactions to the conversation fighting for dominance. His feet have frozen into place beneath him. “What’s going on?”

Benedict is already halfway into explaining by the time Tom finishes voicing the question. “She left. She was here. But she stepped out to take a call. And after a while, when she didn’t come back in. Well, we’d hoped…”

Tom removes his hand from under his arm to pinch the bridge of his nose. It takes him a second to breathe out a single word: “No.” He drops his hand to his side, shaking his head for a moment before rolling his eyes at himself and stopping the motion. “No. I – I haven’t heard from her.”

“Alright. Alright. It was a long shot.” Benedict clears his throat. “Sorry. Ah. Happy New Year, man.”

“Yea.” He waits, almost too long, to speak again. “Hey, Ben?”

“Yea?”

“When you find her?” He bobs his head slightly, acknowledging the possibility she’s just doing exactly what he had been trying to do before answering the call – trying to pretend that the new year held something other than heartache in store for them. “When she answers her damn phone… call me.”

After Benedict responds in the affirmative and rings off Tom remains outside, even after the cold has permeated each layer of clothing. For awhile he watches everyone else out there with him, those still out partying, those already making their way home.

It’s ludicrous, but he can’t help but hope that he’ll recognize the next person to wander towards him. That it’ll be her. She’d never show up here. They’d never talked about it, so how could she know he might be there? That knowledge doesn’t stop him looking for a few minutes longer.

He lets out a long breath, not quite ready to give up even though his nose has started to run. His eyes continue to flit from partygoer to partygoer as he mutters, “Stubborn.”

In his head, she responds with a lighthearted laugh:

_Pot. Kettle_.


End file.
